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 spoke; 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 suffused with a blush of enthusiasm.