The Triumph of the Scarlet Pimpernel | Page 8

of contempt, without deigning to count. But
Catherine Théot cared nothing for his contempt. She coolly picked up
the notes and hid them in the folds of her voluminous draperies. Then
as Chauvelin, without another word, had turned unceremoniously to go,
she placed a bony hand upon his arm.
"And I can rely on you, citizen," she insisted firmly, "that when the
Scarlet Pimpernel is duly captured..."
"There will be ten thousand livres for you," he broke in impatiently, "if
my scheme with Theresia Cabarrus is successful. I never go back on
my word."
"And I'll not go back on mine," she concluded drily. "We are dependent
on one another, citizen Chauvelin. You want to capture the English spy,
and I want ten thousand livres, so that I may retire from active life and
quietly cultivate a plot of cabbages somewhere in the sunshine. So you
may leave the matter to me, my friend. I'll not allow the great
Robespierre to rest till he has compelled Theresia Cabarrus to do your
bidding. Then you may use her as you think best. That gang of English
spies must be found, and crushed. We cannot have the Chosen of the
Most High threatened by such vermin. Ten thousand livres, you say?"
the sybil went on, and once again, as in the presence of the dictator, a
mystic exultation appeared to possess her soul. Gone was the glitter of
avarice from her eyes; her wizened face seem transfigured, her
shrunken form to gain in stature. "Nay! I would serve you on my knees
and accord you worship, if you avert the scarlet danger that hovers over
the head of the Beloved of France!"
But Chauvelin was obviously in no mood to listen to the old hag's
jeremiads, and while with arms uplifted she once more worked herself
up to a hysterical burst of enthusiasm for the bloodthirsty monster
whom she worshipped, he shook himself free from her grasp and
finally slipped out of the room, without further wasting his breath.

Chapter III
: The Fellowship of Grief
1
In the antechamber of Catherine Théot's abode of mysteries some two
hours later, half a dozen persons were sitting. The room was long,
narrow and bare, its walls dank and colourless, and save for the rough
wooden benches on which these person sat, was void of any furniture.
The benches were ranged against the walls; the one window at the end
was shuttered as to exclude all daylight, and from the ceiling there
hung a broken-down wrought-iron chandelier, wherein a couple of
lighted tallow candles were set, the smoke from which rose in irregular
spirals upwards to the low and blackened ceiling.
These persons who sat or sprawled upon the benches did not speak to
one another. They appeared to be waiting. one or two of them were
seemingly asleep; others, from time to time, would rouse themselves
from their apathy, look with dim, inquiring eyes in the direction of a
heavy portière. When this subsided again all those in the bare
waiting-room resumed their patient, lethargic attitude, and a silence -
weird and absolute - reigned once more over them all. Now and then
somebody would sigh, and at one time one of the sleepers snored.
Far away a church clock struck six.
2
A few minutes later, the portière was lifted, and a girl came into the
room. She held a shawl, very much the worse for wear, tightly wrapped
around her meagre shoulders, and from beneath her rough wollen skirt
her small feet appeared clad in well-worn shoes and darned worsted
stockings. Her hair, which was fair and soft, was partially hidden under
a white muslin cap, and as she walked with a brisk step across the room,
she looked neither to right nor left, appeared to move as in a dream.
And her large grey eyes were brimming over with tears.

Neither her rapid passage across the room nor her exit through a door
immediately opposite the window created the slightest stir amongst
those who were waiting. Only one of the men, a huge ungainly giant,
whose long limbs appeared to stretch half-across the bare wooden floor,
looked up lazily as she passed.
After the girl had gone, silence once more fell on the small assembly.
Not a sound came from behind the portière; but from beyond the other
door the faint patter of the girl's feet could be heard gradually fading
away as she went slowly down the stone stairs.
A few more minutes went by, then the door behind the portière was
opened and a cadaverous voice spoke the word, "Enter!
There was a faint stir among those who waited. A woman rose from her
seat, said dully: "My turn, I think?" and, gliding across the room like
some bodiless spectre,