The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emmuska Orczy Read Free Book Online

thither, adding to the general
discomfort of everybody.
    The Comtesse, too, had risen to her feet: rigid and erect, trying to
hide her excitement beneath more becoming SANG-FROID, she repeated
mechanically,—
    "I will not see her!—I will not see her!"
    Outside, the excitement attendant upon the arrival of very important
guests grew apace.
    "Good-day, Sir Percy!—Good-day to your ladyship! Your servant, Sir
Percy!"—was heard in one long, continued chorus, with alternate more
feeble tones of—"Remember the poor blind man! of your charity, lady and
gentleman!"
    Then suddenly a singularly sweet voice was heard through all the din.
    "Let the poor man be—and give him some supper at my expense."
    The voice was low and musical, with a slight sing-song in it, and
a faint SOUPCON of foreign intonation in the pronunciation of the
consonants.
    Everyone in the coffee-room heard it and paused instinctively, listening
to it for a moment. Sally was holding the candles by the opposite door,
which led to the bedrooms upstairs, and the Comtesse was in the act of
beating a hasty retreat before that enemy who owned such a sweet musical
voice; Suzanne reluctantly was preparing to follow her mother, while
casting regretful glances towards the door, where she hoped still to see
her dearly-beloved, erstwhile school-fellow.
    Then Jellyband threw open the door, still stupidly and blindly hoping to
avert the catastrophe, which he felt was in the air, and the same low,
musical voice said, with a merry laugh and mock consternation,—
    "B-r-r-r-r! I am as wet as a herring! DIEU! has anyone ever seen such a
contemptible climate?"
    "Suzanne, come with me at once—I wish it," said the Comtesse,
peremptorily.
    "Oh! Mama!" pleaded Suzanne.
    "My lady . . . er . . . h'm! . . . my lady! . . ." came in feeble accents
from Jellyband, who stood clumsily trying to bar the way.
    "PARDIEU, my good man," said Lady Blakeney, with some impatience, "what
are you standing in my way for, dancing about like a turkey with a sore
foot? Let me get to the fire, I am perished with the cold."
    And the next moment Lady Blakeney, gently pushing mine host on one side,
had swept into the coffee-room.
    There are many portraits and miniatures extant of Marguerite St.
Just—Lady Blakeney as she was then—but it is doubtful if any of these
really do her singular beauty justice. Tall, above the average, with
magnificent presence and regal figure, it is small wonder that even the
Comtesse paused for a moment in involuntary admiration before turning
her back on so fascinating an apparition.
    Marguerite Blakeney was then scarcely five-and-twenty, and her beauty
was at its most dazzling stage. The large hat, with its undulating and
waving plumes, threw a soft shadow across the classic brow with the
auerole of auburn hair—free at the moment from any powder; the sweet,
almost childlike mouth, the straight chiselled nose, round chin, and
delicate throat, all seemed set off by the picturesque costume of the
period. The rich blue velvet robe moulded in its every line the graceful
contour of the figure, whilst one tiny hand held, with a dignity all
its own, the tall stick adorned with a large bunch of ribbons which
fashionable ladies of the period had taken to carrying recently.
    With a quick glance all around the room, Marguerite Blakeney had taken
stock of every one there. She nodded pleasantly to Sir Andrew Ffoulkes,
whilst extending a hand to Lord Antony.
    "Hello! my Lord Tony, why—what are YOU doing here in Dover?" she said
merrily.
    Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and faced the Comtesse and
Suzanne. Her whole face lighted up with additional brightness, as she
stretched out both arms towards the young girl.
    "Why! if that isn't my little Suzanne over there. PARDIEU, little
citizeness, how came you to be in England? And Madame too?"
    She went up effusive to them both, with not a single touch of
embarrassment in her manner or in her smile. Lord Tony and Sir