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|Part I||Baroness Emmuska Orczy|
IX What Love Can Do
|Page 5 of 8||
"To the death!" he whispered eagerly.
"Then a love-scene," she entreated. "Surely you know one. Rodrigue and Chimene! Surely--surely," she urged, even as tears of anguish rose into her eyes, "you must--you must, or, if not that, something else. Quick! The very seconds are precious!"
They were indeed! Madame Belhomme, obedient as a frightened dog, had gone to the door and opened it; even her well-feigned grumblings could now be heard and the rough interrogations from the soldiery.
"Citizeness Lange!" said a gruff voice.
"In her boudoir, quoi!"
Madame Belhomme, braced up apparently by fear, was playing her part remarkably well.
"Bothering good citizens! On baking day, too!" she went on grumbling and muttering.
"Oh, think--think!" murmured Jeanne now in an agonised whisper, her hot little hand grasping his so tightly that her nails were driven into his flesh. "You must know something, that will do--anything--for dear life's sake .... Armand!"
His name--in the tense excitement of this terrible moment--had escaped her lips.
All in a flash of sudden intuition he understood what she wanted, and even as the door of the boudoir was thrown violently open Armand--still on his knees, but with one hand pressed to his heart, the other stretched upwards to the ceiling in the most approved dramatic style, was loudly declaiming:
"Pour venger son honneur il perdit son amour,
Whereupon Mademoiselle Lange feigned the most perfect impatience.
"No, no, my good cousin," she said with a pretty moue of disdain, "that will never do! You must not thus emphasise the end of every line; the verses should flow more evenly, as thus...."
Heron had paused at the door. It was he who had thrown it open--he who, followed by a couple of his sleuth-hounds, had thought to find here the man denounced by de Batz as being one of the followers of that irrepressible Scarlet Pimpernel. The obviously Parisian intonation of the man kneeling in front of citizeness Lange in an attitude no ways suggestive of personal admiration, and coolly reciting verses out of a play, had somewhat taken him aback.
"What does this mean?" he asked gruffly, striding forward into the room and glaring first at mademoiselle, then at Armand.
Mademoiselle gave a little cry of surprise.
"Why, if it isn't citizen Heron!" she cried, jumping up with a dainty movement of coquetry and embarrassment. "Why did not Aunt Marie announce you? ... It is indeed remiss of her, but she is so ill-tempered on baking days I dare not even rebuke her. Won't you sit down, citizen Heron? And you, cousin," she added, looking down airily on Armand, "I pray you maintain no longer that foolish attitude."
The febrileness of her manner, the glow in her cheeks were easily attributable to natural shyness in face of this unexpected visit. Heron, completely bewildered by this little scene, which was so unlike what he expected, and so unlike those to which he was accustomed in the exercise of his horrible duties, was practically speechless before the little lady who continued to prattle along in a simple, unaffected manner.
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