Marguerite's was essentially a buoyant and active nature, a keen brain which worked and schemed and planned, rather than one ready to accept the inevitable.
Hardly had these thoughts of despair and of death formulated themselves in her mind, than with brilliant swiftness, a new train of ideas began to take root.
What if matters were not so hopeless after all?
Already her mind had flown instinctively to thoughts of escape.

Had she the right to despair?
She, the wife and intimate companion of the man who had astonished the world with his daring, his prowess, his amazing good luck, she to imagine for a moment that in this all-supreme moment of adventurous life the Scarlet Pimpernel would fail! Was not English society peopled with men, women and children whom his ingenuity had rescued from plights quite as seemingly hopeless as her own, and would not all the resources of that inventive brain be brought to bear upon this rescue which touched him nearer and more deeply than any which he had attempted hitherto.
Now Marguerite was chiding herself for her doubts and for her fears.
Already she remembered that amongst the crowd on the landing stage she had perceived a figure--unusually tall--following in the wake of Chauvelin and his companions.

Awakened hope had already assured her that she had not been mistaken, that Percy, contrary to her own surmises, had reached Boulogne last night: he always acted so differently to what anyone might expect, that it was quite possible that he had crossed over in the packet-boat after all unbeknown to Marguerite as well as to his enemies.
Oh yes! the more she thought about it all, the more sure was she that Percy was already in Boulogne, and that he knew of her capture and her danger.
What right had she to doubt even for a moment that he would know how to reach her, how--when the time came--to save himself and her?
A warm glow began to fill her veins, she felt excited and alert, absolutely unconscious now of pain or fatigue, in this radiant joy of reawakened hope.
She raised herself slightly, leaning on her elbow: she was still very weak and the slight movement had made her giddy, but soon she would be strong and well...

she must be strong and well and ready to do his bidding when the time for escape would have come.
"Ah! you are better, my child, I see..." said that quaint, tremulous voice again, with its soft sing-song accent, "but you must not be so venturesome, you know.

The physician said that you had received a cruel blow.