Chauvelin felt as if his head would burst--sneeze after sneeze

seemed nearly to choke him; he was blind, deaf, and dumb for the
moment, and during that moment Blakeney quietly, without the slightest

haste, took up his hat, took some money out of his pocket, which he
left on the table, then calmly stalked out of the room!

CHAPTER XXVI THE JEW
It took Marguerite some time to collect her scattered senses;

the whole of this last short episode had taken place in less than a
minute, and Desgas and the soldiers were still about two hundred yards

away from the "Chat Gris."
When she realised what had happened, a curious mixture of joy

and wonder filled her heart. It all was so neat, so ingenious.
Chauvelin was still absolutelyhelpless, far more so than he could

even have been under a blow from the fist, for now he could neither
see, nor hear, nor speak, whilst his cunningadversary had quietly

slipped through his fingers.
Blakeney was gone, obviously" target="_blank" title="ad.明显地；显而易见地">obviously to try and join the fugitives at

the Pere Blanchard's hut. For the moment, true, Chauvelin was
helpless; for the moment the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had not been

caught by Desgas and his men. But all the roads and the beach were
patrolled. Every place was watched, and every stranger kept in sight.

How far could Percy go, thus arrayed in his gorgeous clothes, without
being sighted and followed?

Now she blamed herself terribly for not having gone down to
him sooner, and given him that word of warning and of love which,

perhaps, after all, he needed. He could not know of the orders which
Chauvelin had given for his capture, and even now, perhaps. . .

But before all these horrible thoughts had taken concrete form
in her brain, she heard the grounding of arms outside, close to the

door, and Desgas' voice shouting "Halt!" to his men.
Chauvelin had partially recovered; his sneezing had become

less violent, and he had struggled to his feet. He managed to reach
the door just as Desgas' knock was heard on the outside.

Chauvelin threw open the door, and before his secretary could
say a word, he had managed to stammer between two sneezes--

"The tall stranger--quick!--did any of you see him?"
"Where, citoyen?" asked Desgas, in surprise.

"Here, man! through that door! not five minutes ago."
"We saw nothing, citoyen! The moon is not yet up, and. . ."

"And you are just five minutes too late, my friend," said
Chauvelin, with concentrated fury.

"Citoyen. . .I. . ."
"You did what I ordered you to do," said Chauvelin, with

patience" target="_blank" title="n.不耐烦，急躁">impatience. "I know that, but you were a precious long time about it.
Fortunately, there's not much harm done, or it had fared ill with you,

Citoyen Desgas."
Desgas turned a little pale. There was so much rage and

hatred in his superior's whole attitude.
"The tall stranger, citoyen--" he stammered.

"Was here, in this room, five minutes ago, having supper at
that table. Damn his impudence! For obvious reasons, I dared not

tackle him alone. Brogard is too big a fool, and that cursed
Englishman appears to have the strength of a bullock, and so he

slipped away under your very nose."
"He cannot go far without being sighted, citoyen."

"Ah?"
"Captain Jutley sent forty men as reinforcements for the

patrol duty: twenty went down to the beach. He again assured me that
the watch had been constant all day, and that no stranger could

possibly get to the beach, or reach a boat, without being sighted."
"That's good.--Do the men know their work?"

"They have had very clear orders, citoyen: and I myself spoke
to those who were about to start. They are to shadow--as secretly as

possible--any stranger they may see, especially if he be tall, or
stoop as if her would disguise his height."

"In no case to detain such a person, of course," said
Chauvelin, eagerly. "That impudent Scarlet Pimpernel would slip

through clumsy fingers. We must let him get to the Pere Blanchard's
hut now; there surround and capture him."

"The men understand that, citoyen, and also that, as soon as a
tall stranger has been sighted, he must be shadowed, whilst one man is

to turn straight back and report to you."
"That is right," said Chauvelin, rubbing his hands, well

pleased.
"I have further news for you, citoyen."

"What is it?"
"A tall Englishman had a long conversation about

three-quarters of an hour ago with a Jew, Reuben by name, who lives
not ten paces from here."

"Yes--and?" queried Chauvelin, impatiently.
"The conversation was all about a horse and cart, which the

tall Englishman wished to hire, and which was to have been ready for
him by eleven o'clock."

"It is past that now. Where does that Reuben live?"
"A few minutes' walk from this door."

"Send one of the men to find out if the stranger has driven
off in Reuben's cart."

"Yes, citoyen."
Desgas went to give the necessary orders to one of the men.

Not a word of this conversation between him and Chauvelin had escaped
Marguerite, and every word they had spoken seemed to strike at her

heart, with terrible hopelessness and dark foreboding.
She had come all this way, and with such high hopes and firm

determination to help her husband, and so far she had been able to do
nothing, but to watch, with a heart breaking with anguish, the meshes

of the deadly net closing round the daring Scarlet Pimpernel.
He could not now advance many steps, without spying eyes to

track and denounce him. Her own helplessness struck her with the
terrible sense of utter disappointment. The possibility of being the

slightest use to her husband had become almost NIL, and her only
hope rested in being allowed to share his fate, whatever it might

ultimately be.
For the moment, even her chance of ever seeing the man she

loved again, had become a remote one. Still, she was determined to
keep a close watch over his enemy, and a vague hope filled her heart,

that whilst she kept Chauvelin in sight, Percy's fate might still be
hanging in the balance.

Desgas left Chauvelin moodily pacing up and down the room,
whilst he himself waited outside for the return of the man whom he had

sent in search of Reuben. Thus several minutes went by. Chauvelin
was evidently devoured with patience" target="_blank" title="n.不耐烦，急躁">impatience. Apparently he trusted no one:

this last trick played upon him by the daring Scarlet Pimpernel had
made him suddenly doubtful of success, unless he himself was there to

watch, direct and superintend the capture of this impudent Englishman.
About five minutes later, Desgas returned, followed by an

elderly Jew, in a dirty, threadbare gaberdine, worn greasy across the
shoulders. His red hair, which he wore after the fashion of the

Polish Jews, with the corkscrew curls each side of his face, was
plentifully sprinkled with grey--a general coating of grime, about his

cheeks and his chin, gave him a peculiarly" target="_blank" title="ad.特有地；古怪地">peculiarly dirty and loathsome
appearance. He had the habitual stoop, those of his race affected in

mock humility in past centuries, before the dawn of equality and
freedom in matters of faith, and he walked behind Desgas with the

peculiar shuffling gait which has remained the characteristic of the
Jew trader in continental Europe to this day.

Chauvelin, who had all the Frenchman's prejudice against the
despised race, motioned to the fellow to keep at a respectful

distance. The group of the three men were standing just underneath
the hanging oil-lamp, and Marguerite had a clear view of them all.