



Produced by J.C. Byers and L.M. Shaf





THE ELUSIVE PIMPERNEL

By Baroness Orczy




Contents


     I.       Paris: 1793
     II.      A Retrospect
     III.     Ex-Ambassador Chauvelin
     IV.      The Richmond Gala
     V.       Sir Percy and His Lady
     VI.      For the Poor of Paris
     VII.     Premonition
     VIII.    The Invitation
     IX.      Demoiselle Candeille
     X.       Lady Blakeney's Rout
     XI.      The Challenge
     XII.     Time -- Place -- Conditions
     XIII.    Reflections
     XIV.     The Ruling Passion
     XV.      Farewell
     XVI.     The Passport
     XVII.    Boulogne
     XVIII.   No. 6
     XIX.     The Strength of the Weak
     XX.      Triumph
     XXI.     Suspense
     XXII.    Not Death
     XXIII.   The Hostage
     XXIV.    Colleagues
     XXV.     The Unexpected
     XXVI.    The Terms of the Bargain
     XXVII.   The Decision
     XXVIII.  The Midnight Watch
     XXIX.    The National Fete
     XXX.     The Procession
     XXXI.    Final Dispositions
     XXXII.   The Letter
     XXXIII.  The English Spy
     XXXIV.   The Angelus
     XXXV.    Marguerite





Chapter I: Paris: 1793

There was not even a reaction.

On! ever on! in that wild, surging torrent; sowing the wind of anarchy,
of terrorism, of lust of blood and hate, and reaping a hurricane of
destruction and of horror.

On! ever on! France, with Paris and all her children still rushes
blindly, madly on; defies the powerful coalition,--Austria, England,
Spain, Prussia, all joined together to stem the flow of carnage,--defies
the Universe and defies God!

Paris this September 1793!--or shall we call it Vendemiaire, Year I.
of the Republic?--call it what we will! Paris! a city of bloodshed, of
humanity in its lowest, most degraded aspect. France herself a gigantic
self-devouring monster, her fairest cities destroyed, Lyons razed to the
ground, Toulon, Marseilles, masses of blackened ruins, her bravest sons
turned to lustful brutes or to abject cowards seeking safety at the cost
of any humiliation.

That is thy reward, oh mighty, holy Revolution! apotheosis of equality
and fraternity! grand rival of decadent Christianity.

Five weeks now since Marat, the bloodthirsty Friend of the People,
succumbed beneath the sheath-knife of a virgin patriot, a month since
his murderess walked proudly, even enthusiastically, to the guillotine!
There has been no reaction--only a great sigh!... Not of content or
satisfied lust, but a sigh such as the man-eating tiger might heave
after his first taste of long-coveted blood.

A sigh for more!

A king on the scaffold; a queen degraded and abased, awaiting death,
which lingers on the threshold of her infamous prison; eight hundred
scions of ancient houses that have made the history of France; brave
generals, Custine, Blanchelande, Houchard, Beauharnais; worthy patriots,
noble-hearted women, misguided enthusiasts, all by the score and by the
hundred, up the few wooden steps which lead to the guillotine.

An achievement of truth!

And still that sigh for more!

But for the moment,--a few seconds only,--Paris looked round her mighty
self, and thought things over!

The man-eating tiger for the space of a sigh licked his powerful jaws
and pondered!

Something new!--something wonderful!

We have had a new Constitution, a new Justice, new Laws, a new Almanack!

What next?

Why