"The other day, citoyenne," he said, "I asked for your help. . . . France needed it, and I thought I could rely on you, but you gave me your answer. . . . Since then the exigencies of my own affairs and your own social duties have kept up apart. . .although many things have happened. . . .""To the point, I pray you, citoyen," she said lightly; "the music is entrancing, and the audience will get impatient of your talk.""One moment, citoyenne. The day on which I had the honour of meeting you at Dover, and less than an hour after I had your final answer, I obtained possession of some papers, which revealed another of those subtle schemes for the escape of a batch of French aristocrats--that traitor de Tournay amongst others--all organized by that arch-meddler, the Scarlet Pimpernel. Some of the threads, too, of this mysterious organization have come into my hands, but not all, and I want you--nay! you MUST help me to gather them together."Marguerite seemed to have listened to him with marked impatience; she now shrugged her shoulders and said gaily--"Bah! man. Have I not already told you that I care nought about your schemes or about the Scarlet Pimpernel. And had you not spoken about my brother. . .""A little patience, I entreat, citoyenne," he continued imperturbably. "Two gentlemen, Lord Antony Dewhurst and Sir Andrew Ffoulkes were at `The Fisherman's Rest' at Dover that same night.""I know. I saw them there."
