"An I mistake not, few places can offer such great attractions to that peerless gentleman of fashion than doth this humble provincial town of France just at this present....

Hath it not the honour of harbouring Lady Blakeney within its gates ?...

And your ladyship may indeed believe me when I say that the day that Sir Percy lands in our hospitable port, two hundred pairs of eyes will be fixed upon him, lest he should wish to quit it again." "And if there were two thousand, sir," she said impulsively, "they would not stop his coming or going as he pleased." "Nay, fair lady," he said, with a smile, "are you then endowing Sir Percy Blakeney with the attributes which, as popular fancy has it, belong exclusively to that mysterious English hero, the Scarlet Pimpernel ?" "A truce to your diplomacy, Monsieur Chauvelin," she retorted, goaded by his sarcasm, "why should we try to fence with one another?
What was the object of your journey to England?
of the farce which you enacted in my house, with the help of the woman Candeille?
of that duel and that challenge, save that you desired to entice Sir Percy Blakeney to France ?" "And also his charming wife," he added with an ironical bow.
She bit her lip, and made no comment.
"Shall we say that I succeeded admirably ?" he continued, speaking with persistent urbanity and calm, "and that I have strong cause to hope that the elusive Pimpernel will soon be a guest on our friendly shores ?...
There! you see I too have laid down the foils....

As you say, why should we fence?
Your ladyship is now in Boulogne, soon Sir Percy will come to try and take you away from us, but believe me, fair lady, that it would take more than the ingenuity and the daring of the Scarlet Pimpernel magnified a thousandfold to get him back to England again...

unless..." "Unless ?..." Marguerite held her breath.