The Elusive Pimpernel. Baroness Emmuska Orczy Orczy

to frequent the world all alone, and that you have a mother, a sister or a friend … which? … whom you would wish to escort you to-morrow. Is that it?”

      “Nay,” rejoined the actress, with marked bitterness, “I have neither mother, nor sister, but our Revolutionary Government, with tardy compassion for those it has so relentlessly driven out of France, has deputed a representative of theirs in England to look after the interests of French subjects over here!”

      “Yes?”

      “They have realised over in Paris that my life here has been devoted to the welfare of the poor people of France. The representative whom the government has sent to England is specially interested in me and in my work. He is a stand-by for me in case of trouble … in case of insults … A woman alone is oft subject to those, even at the hands of so-called gentlemen … and the official representative of my own country becomes in such cases my most natural protector.”

      “I understand.”

      “You will receive him?”

      “Certainly.”

      “Then may I present him to your ladyship?”

      “Whenever you like.”

      “Now, and it please you.”

      “Now?”

      “Yes. Here he comes, at your ladyship's service.”

      Desiree Candeille's almond-shaped eyes were fixed upon a distant part of the tent, behind Lady Blakeney in the direction of the main entrance to the booth. There was a slight pause after she had spoken and then Marguerite slowly turned in order to see who this official representative of France was, whom at the young actress' request she had just agreed to receive in her house. In the doorway of the tent, framed by its gaudy draperies, and with the streaming sunshine as a brilliant background behind him, stood the sable-clad figure of Chauvelin.