“La! my dear sir,” a lazy, pleasant voice riposted, “what else could I do?  There was no time for explanations.  You were half-crazed, and would not have understood.  And you were ready to bring all the nightwatchmen about our ears.”

“I am sorry!” Kennard said simply.  “But how could I guess?”

“You couldn’t,” rejoined the other.  “That is why I had to deal so summarily with you and with Mademoiselle Esther, not to speak of good old Lucienne, who had never, in her life, been inside a cabaret.  You must all forgive me ere you start upon your journey.  You are not out of the wood yet, remember.  Though Paris is a long way behind, France itself is no longer a healthy place for any of you.”

“But how did we ever get out of Paris?  I was smothered under a pile of cabbages, with Lucienne on one side of me and Esther, unconscious, on the other.  I could see nothing.  I know we halted at the barrier.  I thought we would be recognised, turned back!  My God! how I trembled!”

“Bah!” broke in the other, with a careless laugh.  “It is not so difficult as it seems.  We have done it before—­eh, Ffoulkes?  A market-gardener’s cart, a villainous wretch like myself to drive it, another hideous object like Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, Bart., to lead the scraggy nag, a couple of forged or stolen passports, plenty of English gold, and the deed is done!”

Esther’s eyes were fixed upon the speaker.  She marvelled now how she could have been so blind.  The cadaverous face was nothing but a splendid use of grease paint!  The rags! the dirt! the whole assumption of a hideous character was masterly!  But there were the eyes, deep-set, and thoughtful and kind.  How did she fail to guess?

“You are known as the Scarlet Pimpernel,” she said suddenly.  “Suzanne de Tournai was my friend.  She told me.  You saved her and her family, and now... oh, my God!” she exclaimed, “how shall we ever repay you?”

“By placing yourselves unreservedly in my friend Ffoulkes’ hands,” he replied gently.  “He will lead you to safety and, if you wish it, to England.”

“If we wish it!” Kennard sighed fervently.

“You are not coming with us, Blakeney?” queried Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, and it seemed to Esther’s sensitive ears as if a tone of real anxiety and also of entreaty rang in the young man’s voice.

“No, not this time,” replied Sir Percy lightly.  “I like my character of Rateau, and I don’t want to give it up just yet.  I have done nothing to arouse suspicion in the minds of my savoury compeers up at the Cabaret de la Liberte.  I can easily keep this up for some time to come, and frankly I admire myself as citizen Rateau.  I don’t know when I have enjoyed a character so much!”

“You mean to return to the Cabaret de la Liberte!” exclaimed Sir Andrew.

“Why not?”

“You will be recognised!”

“Not before I have been of service to a good many unfortunates, I hope.”