Once again Blanche paused before she answered. When she did, she spoke very slowly, almost as if she were searching her memory for facts which had been relegated up to now to the back of her mind.
"No, it would not surprise me. I always looked on Professeur d'Arblay as somewhat mysterious. Father liked him, and they often had long talks together, and maman, pauvre maman! looked upon him, I often thought, as a messenger of God. As a matter of fact, I never knew his name till quite lately, the day when the King was executed and the Abbé Edgeworth-"
"Yes? The Abbé Edgeworth? You know about him and his escape from the mob who tried to murder him?"
"Yes. It was Professeur d'Arblay who brought him to this house."
"It was the Scarlet Pimpernel, Mademoiselle."
"The Scarlet Pimpernel? the girl murmured, "and you know him, Monsieur?"
"I am English, Mademoiselle, and we Englishmen all know him. We work together in the secret service of our country. I told him that I should be going past your house this evening, so he asked me to bring you the message which he desires you to convey to Mademoiselle de la Rodière."
"A verbal message?"
"No. I will write it if you will allow me. It would not have been over safe for a lonely wayfarer as I was to carry a compromising paper about his person. There are many spies and vagabonds about."
"But when we go up to La Rodière?"
"I am going down into Choisy first, and will hire a chaise. We will drive up to the château, with a couple of men on the box."
Blanche looked intently at the young man for a second or two, then she rose, fetched paper, ink and a pen from a side table and placed them before him.
"Will you write your message, Monsieur?" she said simply.
"Will you promise to take it? he retorted.
"I will make no promise. It will depend on the message."
"Then I must take the chance that it meets with your approval," he decided, and with a smile he took up the pen and began to write. Blanche, her elbow resting on the table, her chin cupped in her hand, watched him while he wrote a dozen lines. In the end he made a rough drawing which looked like a device.
"What is that? she asked.
"The Scarlet Pimpernel, Mademoiselle, a small five-petalled flower. We always use it in our service."
"May I see what you have written?"
"Certainly."
He handed her the paper; she glanced down on it and frowned.
"It is in English," she remarked.
"Yes! my written French is very faulty. But Mademoiselle Cécile will understand."
"But I do not."
"Shall I translate?"
"If you please."
She handed him back the missive and he translated it as he read:
"Mademoiselle,
"Will you and your august family honour the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel by accepting its protection. Your arrest is only a question of hours. A coach waits for you outside your gate. It will convey you and Madame la Marquise with all possible speed to a place of safety and then return to fetch Monsieur le Marquis, your two servants and Docteur Simon Pradel."
The girl gave a violent start.
"Simon Pradel?"
"You know him, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes! . . . yes! . . . I know him. . . . But why?"
"He and Mademoiselle Cécile have arranged to get married as soon as they are in England."
"It's not true!" Blanche exclaimed vehemently. She then appeared to make an effort to control herself and went on more quietly: "I mean . . . Docteur Pradel has so many interests here . . . I cannot imagine that he would leave them and become an exile in England . . . even if his life were in danger, which I pray to God is not the case."
"I can reassure you as to that, Mademoiselle," Devinne said with deep earnestness. "Only to-day did I hear that the charge of treason preferred against the doctor before the Chief Commissary has been dismissed as non-proven. He is held in high esteem in the commune, and like yourself, I cannot believe that he would leave his philanthropic work over here except under constraint."
"What do you mean by constraint?" the girl asked, frowning.
He gave a smile and a shrug.
"Well!" he rejoined, "we all know that when a woman is in love, and sees that her lover is not as ardent as she would wish, she will exercise pressure, which a mere man cannot always resist."
"Then you do not think-" the girl cried impulsively, and quickly checked herself, realizing that she was giving herself away before a stranger. A blush, that was almost one of shame, flooded her cheeks, and tears of mortification came to her eyes.
"I don't know what you will think of me, Monsieur . . ." she murmured.
"Only that you are a wonderfully loyal friend, Mademoiselle, and that you are grieved to see a man of Docteur Pradel's worth throw up his career for a futile reason. After all, these troublous days will soon be over. Mademoiselle de la Rodière will then return from England, and if she and the doctor are still of the same mind, they could be affianced then."
Blanche's eager, inquiring eyes searched the young man's face, almost as if she tried to gather in its expression comfort and hope in this awful calamity which threatened to ruin her life. Simon Pradel gone from her for ever, married to Cécile de la Rodière, permanently settled in England probably! What would life be worth to her after that? She saw before her as in a vision, a long vista of years without Simon's companionship, without the hope of ever winning his love, of feeling his arms round her, or his kiss upon her mouth.
She felt a clutch cold as ice upon her heart, tearing at its strings till she could have cried out with the physical pain of it. She shuddered and murmured involuntarily under her breath: "If I could only see him once more."
There followed a few moments silence, while Devinne scrutinized the girl's face, aware though he was too young to be a serious psychologist, of the terrible battle which her better nature was waging against pride and jealousy. He had no cause now to doubt the issue of the conflict. Blanche Levet would be his ally in the act of treachery which he was about to commit. Ignorant and unsuspecting, she did not realize that she was on the point of sacrificing the man she loved, and depriving him of the protection of the one man who had resolved to save him. Jealousy won the day by letting her fall headlong into the trap which a traitor had so cunningly set for her. She was about to become the instrument which would deliver Simon Pradel into the hands of the revolutionary government.
"I will tell you what I can do, Mademoiselle," Devinne resumed after a time, "and I hope my plan will meet your wishes. I am going straight into Choisy now, and will call on Docteur Pradel and use all the eloquence I possess to persuade him to put off his journey to England, at any rate for a few days. I shall be able to assure him that in his case it is not a matter of life and death, whilst, in any event, Mademoiselle de la Rodière and her family are perfectly safe under the ægis of the Scarlet Pimpernel. And then I hope to bring you news within the hour that your friend will do nothing rash until after he has seen you again."
Blanche listened to him with glowing eyes. In every line of her pretty face the speaker could trace the mastery of hope over the doubts and fears of a while ago.
"You really would do that for me, Monsieur?" she exclaimed, and clasped her little hands together, while tears of emotion and gratitude gathered in her eyes.
"Of course I would, Mademoiselle. I shall only be doing what our brave Scarlet Pimpernel himself would have suggested."
Blanche's heart now felt so warm, so full of joy that she broke into a happy little laugh.