The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel · Chapter 16 (2/2)

“Let me rather put it differently, dear lady,” he said. “One day the exquisite Theresia Cabarrus⁠—the Egeria of the Terrorists, the fiancée of the Great Tallien⁠—might need the help of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel.”

“I would sooner die than seek your help, milor,” she protested earnestly.

“Here in Dover, perhaps⁠ ⁠… but in France?⁠ ⁠… And you said you were going back to France, in spite of Chauvelin and his pale eyes, and his suspicions of you.”

“Since you think so ill of me,” she retorted, “why should you offer me your help?”

“Because,” he replied lightly, “with the exception of my friend Chauvelin, I have never had so amusing an enemy; and if would afford me intense satisfaction to render you a signal service.”

“You mean, that you would risk your life to save mine?”

“No. I should not risk my life, dear lady,” he said with his puzzling smile. “But I should⁠—God help me!⁠—do my best, if the need arose, to save yours.”

After which, with another ceremonious bow, he took final leave of her, and she was left standing there, looking after his tall, retreating figure until the turn of the street hid him from view.

Who could have fathomed her thoughts and feelings at that moment? No one, in truth; not even herself. Theresia Cabarrus had met many men in her day, subjugated and fooled not a few. But she had never met anyone like this before. At one moment she had thought she had him: he appeared moved, serious, compassionate, gave her his word that he would not betray her; and in that word, her unerring instinct⁠—the instinct of the adventuress, the woman who succeeds by her wits as well by her charm⁠—told her that she could trust. Did he fear her, or did he not? Did he suspect her? Theresia could not say. She had no experience of such men. As for the word “sport,” she hardly knew its meaning; and yet he had talked of not betraying her because he was “a lover of sport”! It was all very puzzling; very mysterious.

For a long while she remained standing in the porch. From the square bay window on her right came the sound of laughter and chatter, issuing from the coffee-room, whilst one or two noisy groups of sailors and their girls passed her by, singing and laughing, down the street. But in the porch, where she stood, the noisy world appeared distant, as if she were alone in one of her own creation. She could, just by closing her eyes and ears to the life around her, imagine she could still hear the merry, lazy, drawling voice of the man she had set out to punish. She could still see his tall figure and humorous face, with those heavy eyes that lit up now and again with a strange, mysterious light, and the firm lips every ready to break into a smile. She could still see the man who so loved sport that he swore not to betray her, and risked the chance, in his turn, of falling into a trap.

Well! he had defied and insulted her. The letter which he left for her after he had smuggled Bertrand Moncrif out of her apartment, rankled and stung her pride as nothing had ever done before. Therefore the man must be punished, and in a manner that would leave no doubt in his mind as to whence came the blow that struck him. But it was all going to be very much more difficult than the beautiful Theresia Cabarrus had allowed herself to believe.