One or two men stood close behind the official at the desk, and the sentinels were to the right and left of the tent.
With an instinctive sense of appeal, Marguerite looked round from one face to the other: but each looked absolutely impassive and stolid, quite uninterested in this little scene, the exact counterpart of a dozen others, enacted on this very spot within the last hour.
"He! la! la! petite mere!" said the official in the same tone of easy persiflage which he had adopted all along, "but we do know how to concoct a pretty lie, aye! and so circumstantially too! Unfortunately it was Citizeness Desiree Candeille herself who happened to be standing just where you are at the present moment, along with her maid, Celine Dumont, both of whom were specially signed for and recommended as perfectly trustworthy, by no less a person than Citoyen Chauvelin of the Committee of Public Safety." "But I assure you that there is a mistake," pleaded Marguerite earnestly, "'Tis the other woman who lied, I have my passport and..." "A truce on this," retorted the man peremptorily.

"If everything is as you say, and if you have nothing to hide, you'll be at liberty to continue your journey to-morrow, after you have explained yourself before the citizen governor.

Next one now, quick!" Marguerite tried another protest, just as those others had done, whom she had watched so mechanically before.

But already she knew that that would be useless, for she had felt that a heavy hand was being placed on her shoulder, and that she was being roughly led away.
In a flash she had understood and seen the whole sequel of the awful trap which had all along been destined to engulf her as well as her husband.
What a clumsy, blind fool she had been! What a miserable antagonist the subtle schemes of a past master of intrigue as was Chauvelin.

To have enticed the Scarlet Pimpernel to France was a great thing! The challenge was clever, the acceptance of it by the bold adventurer a forgone conclusion, but the master stroke of the whole plan was done, when she, the wife, was enticed over too with the story of Candeille's remorse and the offer of the passport.
Fool! fool that she was! And how well did Chauvelin know feminine nature! How cleverly he had divined her thoughts, her feelings, the impulsive way in which she would act; how easily he had guessed that, knowing her husband's danger, she, Marguerite, would immediately follow him.
Now the trap had closed on her--and she saw it all, when it was too late.
Percy Blakeney in France! His wife a prisoner! Her freedom and safety in exchange for his life! The hopelessness of it all struck her with appalling force, and her senses reeled with the awful finality of the disaster.
Yet instinct in her still struggled for freedom.