"To--What shall I say, my friend?" rejoined Sir Percy Blakeney, with that inimitable drawl of his. "To give your demmed government something else to think about, whilst you are all busy running your heads into a noose." "What makes you think we are doing that?" "Three things, my friend--may I offer you a pinch of snuff--No?--Ah well!..." And with the graceful gesture of an accomplished dandy, Sir Percy flicked off a grain of dust from his immaculate Mechlin ruffles. "Three things," he continued quietly; "an imprisoned Queen, about to be tried for her life, the temperament of a Frenchman--some of them--and the idiocy of mankind generally. These three things make me think that a certain section of hot-headed Republicans with yourself, my dear Déroulède, _en tête,_ are about to attempt the most stupid, senseless, purposeless thing that was ever concocted by the excitable brain of a demmed Frenchman." Déroulède smiled. "Does it not seem amusing to you, Blakeney, that you should sit there and condemn anyone for planning mad, insane, senseless things." "La! I'll not sit, I'll stand!" rejoined Blakeney with a laugh, as he drew himself up to his full height, and stretched his long, lazy limbs. "And now let me tell you, friend, that my League of The Scarlet Pimpernel never attempted the impossible, and to try and drag the Queen out of the clutches of these murderous rascals now, is attempting the unattainable." "And yet we mean to try." "I know it. I guessed it, that is why I came: that is also why I sent a pleasant little note to the Committee of Public Safety, signed with the device they know so well: The Scarlet Pimpernel." "Well?" "Well! the result is obvious. Robespierre, Danton, Tinville, Merlin, and the whole of the demmed murderous crowd, will be busy looking after me--a needle in a haystack. They'll put the abortive attempt down to me, and you may--_ma foi!_ I only suggest that you _may_ escape safely out of France--in the _Daydream,_ and with the help of your humble servant." "But in the meanwhile they'll discover you, and they'll not let you escape a second time." "My friend! if a terrier were to lose his temper, he never would run a rat to earth. Now your Revolutionary Government has lost its temper with me, ever since I slipped through Chauvelin's fingers; they are blind with their own fury, whilst I am perfectly happy and cool as a cucumber. My life has become valuable to me, my friend. There is someone over the water now who weeps when I don't return--No! no! never fear--they'll not get The Scarlet Pimpernel this journey ..." He laughed, a gay, pleasant laugh, and his strong, firm face seemed to soften at thought of the beautiful wife, over in England, who was waiting anxiously for his safe return. "And yet you'll not help us to rescue the Queen?" rejoined Déroulède, with some bitterness.