His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales had promised to be present. He was coming on presently from the opera. Lord Grenville himself had listened to the two first acts of Orpheus, before preparing to receive his guests. At ten o'clock—an unusually late hour in those days—the grand rooms of the Foreign Office, exquisitely3 decorated with exotic palms and flowers, were filled to overflowing4. One room had been set apart for dancing, and the dainty strains of the minuet made a soft accompaniment to the gay chatter5, the merry laughter of the numerous and brilliant company.
In a smaller chamber6, facing the top of the fine stairway, the distinguished7 host stood ready to receive his guests. Distinguished men, beautiful women, notabilities from every European country had already filed past him, had exchanged the elaborate bows and curtsies with him, which the extravagant9 fashion of the time demanded, and then, laughing and talking, had dispersed10 in the ball, reception, and card rooms beyond.
Not far from Lord Grenville's elbow, leaning against one of the console tables, Chauvelin, in his irreproachable11 black costume, was taking a quiet survey of the brilliant throng12. He noted13 that Sir Percy and Lady Blakeney had not yet arrived, and his keen, pale eyes glanced quickly towards the door every time a newcomer appeared.
He stood somewhat isolated14: the envoy15 of the Revolutionary Government of France was not likely to be very popular in England, at a time when the news of the awful September massacres16, and of the Reign1 of Terror and Anarchy17, had just begun to filtrate across the Channel.
In his official capacity he had been received courteously18 by his English colleagues: Mr. Pitt had shaken him by the hand; Lord Grenville had entertained him more than once; but the more intimate circles of London society ignored him altogether; the women openly turned their backs upon him; the men who held no official position refused to shake his hand.
But Chauvelin was not the man to trouble himself about these social amenities19, which he called mere20 incidents in his diplomatic career. He was blindly enthusiastic for the revolutionary cause, he despised all social inequalities, and he had a burning love for his own country: these three sentiments made him supremely21 indifferent to the snubs he received in this fog-ridden, loyalist, old-fashioned England.
But, above all, Chauvelin had a purpose at heart. He firmly believed that the French aristocrat22 was the most bitter enemy of France; he would have wished to see every one of them annihilated23: he was one of those who, during this awful Reign of Terror, had been the first to utter the historic and ferocious24 desire “that aristocrats25 might have but one head between them, so that it might be cut off with a single stroke of the guillotine.” And thus he looked upon every French aristocrat, who had succeeded in escaping from France, as so much prey26 of which the guillotine had been unwarrantably cheated. There is no doubt that those royalist émigrés, once they had managed to cross the frontier, did their very best to stir up foreign indignation against France. Plots without end were hatched in England, in Belgium, in Holland, to try and induce some great power to send troops into revolutionary Paris, to free King Louis, and to summarily hang the bloodthirsty leaders of that monster republic.
Small wonder, therefore, that the romantic and mysterious personality of the Scarlet27 Pimpernel was a source of bitter hatred28 to Chauvelin. He and the few young jackanapes under his command, well furnished with money, armed with boundless29 daring, and acute cunning, had succeeded in rescuing hundreds of aristocrats from France. Nine-tenths of the émigrés, who were fêted at the English court, owed their safety to that man and to his league.
Chauvelin had sworn to his colleagues in Paris that he would discover the identity of that meddlesome30 Englishman, entice31 him over to France, and then . . . Chauvelin drew a deep breath of satisfaction at the very thought of seeing that enigmatic head falling under the knife of the guillotine, as easily as that of any other man.
Suddenly there was a great stir on the handsome staircase, all conversation stopped for a moment as the major-domo's voice outside announced,—
The Prince of Wales, dressed in a magnificent court suit of salmon-coloured velvet34 richly embroidered35 with gold, entered with Marguerite Blakeney on his arm; and on his left Sir Percy, in gorgeous shimmering36 cream satin, cut in the extravagant “Incroyable” style, his fair hair free from powder, priceless lace at his neck and wrists, and the flat chapeau-bras under his arm.
After the few conventional words of deferential37 greeting, Lord Grenville said to his royal guest,—
“Will your Highness permit me to introduce M. Chauvelin, the accredited38 agent of the French Government?”
Chauvelin, immediately the Prince entered, had stepped forward, expecting this introduction. He bowed very low, whilst the Prince returned his salute39 with a curt8 nod of the head.
“Monsieur,” said His Royal Highness coldly, “we will try to forget the government that sent you, and look upon you merely as our guest—a private gentleman from France. As such you are welcome, Monsieur.”
“Monseigneur,” rejoined Chauvelin, bowing once again. “Madame,” he added, bowing ceremoniously before Marguerite.
“Ah! my little Chauvelin!” she said with unconcerned gaiety, and extending her tiny hand to him. “Monsieur and I are old friends, your Royal Highness.”
“Ah, then,” said the Prince, this time very graciously, “you are doubly welcome, Monsieur.”
“There is someone else I would crave40 permission to present to your Royal Highness,” here interposed Lord Grenville.
“Ah! who is it?” asked the Prince.
“Madame la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive and her family, who have but recently come from France.”
“By all means!—They are among the lucky ones then!”
Lord Grenville turned in search of the Comtesse, who sat at the further end of the room.
“Lud love me!” whispered His Royal Highness to Marguerite, as soon as he had caught sight of the rigid41 figure of the old lady; “Lud love me! she looks very virtuous42 and very melancholy43.”
“Faith, your Royal Highness,” she rejoined with a smile, “virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant44 when it is crushed.”
“Madame la Comtesse de Tournay de Basserive,” said Lord Grenville, introducing the lady.
“This is a pleasure, Madame; my royal father, as you know, is ever glad to welcome those of your compatriots whom France has driven from her shores.”
“Your Royal Highness is ever gracious,” replied the Comtesse with becoming dignity. Then, indicating her daughter, who stood timidly by her side: “My daughter Suzanne, Monseigneur,” she said.
“Ah! charming!—charming!” said the Prince, “and now allow me, Comtesse, to introduce to you, Lady Blakeney, who honours us with her friendship. You and she will have much to say to one another, I vow46. Every compatriot of Lady Blakeney's is doubly welcome for her sake . . . her friends are our friends . . . her enemies, the enemies of England.”
Marguerite's blue eyes had twinkled with merriment at this gracious speech from her exalted friend. The Comtesse de Tournay, who lately had so flagrantly insulted her, was here receiving a public lesson, at which Marguerite could not help but rejoice. But the Comtesse, for whom respect of royalty47 amounted almost to a religion, was too well-schooled in courtly etiquette48 to show the slightest sign of embarrassment49, as the two ladies curtsied ceremoniously to one another.
“His Royal Highness is ever gracious, Madame,” said Marguerite, demurely50, and with a wealth of mischief51 in her twinkling blue eyes, “but here there is no need for his kind mediation52. . . . Your amiable53 reception of me at our last meeting still dwells pleasantly in my memory.”
“We poor exiles, Madame,” rejoined the Comtesse, frigidly54, “show our gratitude55 to England by devotion to the wishes of Monseigneur.”
“Madame!” said Marguerite, with another ceremonious curtsey.
“Madame,” responded the Comtesse with equal dignity.
The Prince in the meanwhile was saying a few gracious words to the young Vicomte.
“I am happy to know you, Monsieur le Vicomte,” he said. “I knew your father well when he was ambassador in London.”
“Ah, Monseigneur!” replied the Vicomte, “I was a leetle boy then . . . and now I owe the honour of this meeting to our protector, the Scarlet Pimpernel.”
“Hush!” said the Prince, earnestly and quickly, as he indicated Chauvelin, who had stood a little on one side throughout the whole of this little scene, watching Marguerite and the Comtesse with an amused, sarcastic56 little smile around his thin lips.
“Nay, Monseigneur,” he said now, as if in direct response to the Prince's challenge, “pray do not check this gentleman's display of gratitude; the name of that interesting red flower is well known to me—and to France.”
The Prince looked at him keenly for a moment or two.
“Faith, then, Monsieur,” he said, “perhaps you know more about our national hero than we do ourselves . . . perchance you know who he is.[EOL] . . . See!” he added, turning to the groups round the room, “the ladies hang upon your lips . . . you would render yourself popular among the fair sex if you were to gratify their curiosity.”
“Ah, Monseigneur,” said Chauvelin, significantly, “rumour has it in France that your Highness could—an you would—give the truest account of that enigmatical wayside flower.”
He looked quickly and keenly at Marguerite as he spoke57; but she betrayed no emotion, and her eyes met his quite fearlessly.
“Nay, man,” replied the Prince, “my lips are sealed! and the members of the league jealously guard the secret of their chief . . . so his fair adorers have to be content with worshipping a shadow. Here in England, Monsieur,” he added, with wonderful charm and dignity, “we but name the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every fair cheek is suffused58 with a blush of enthusiasm. None have seen him save his faithful lieutenants59. We know not if he be tall or short, fair or dark, handsome or ill-formed; but we know that he is the bravest gentleman in all the world, and we all feel a little proud, Monsieur, when we remember that he is an Englishman.”
“Ah, Monsieur Chauvelin,” added Marguerite, looking almost with defiance60 across at the placid61, sphinx-like face of the Frenchman, “His Royal Highness should add that we ladies think of him as of a hero of old . . . we worship him . . . we wear his badge . . . we tremble for him when he is in danger, and exult62 with him in the hour of his victory.”
Chauvelin did no more than bow placidly63 both to the Prince and to Marguerite; he felt that both speeches were intended—each in their way—to convey contempt or defiance. The pleasure-loving, idle Prince he despised; the beautiful woman, who in her golden hair wore a spray of small red flowers composed of rubies64 and diamonds—her he held in the hollow of his hand: he could afford to remain silent and to await events.
“And we poor husbands,” came in slow, affected67 accents from gorgeous Sir Percy, “we have to stand by . . . while they worship a demmed shadow.”
Everyone laughed—the Prince more loudly than anyone. The tension of subdued68 excitement was relieved, and the next moment everyone was laughing and chatting merrily as the gay crowd broke up and dispersed in the adjoining rooms.
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1
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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3
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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5
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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7
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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envoy
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| n.使节，使者，代表，公使 | |
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16
massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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18
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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19
amenities
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| n.令人愉快的事物；礼仪；礼节；便利设施；礼仪( amenity的名词复数 )；便利设施；（环境等的）舒适；（性情等的）愉快 | |
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20
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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23
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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24
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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26
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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27
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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28
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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29
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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meddlesome
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| adj.爱管闲事的 | |
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entice
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| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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33
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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35
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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36
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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37
deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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38
accredited
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| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
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39
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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40
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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41
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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42
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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43
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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44
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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45
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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46
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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47
royalty
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| n.皇家，皇族 | |
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48
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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49
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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50
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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51
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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52
mediation
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| n.调解 | |
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53
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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54
frigidly
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| adv.寒冷地；冷漠地；冷淡地；呆板地 | |
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55
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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56
sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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57
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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58
suffused
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| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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60
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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61
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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exult
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| v.狂喜，欢腾；欢欣鼓舞 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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64
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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65
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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66
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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67
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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68
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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