But to-day all the sergeants in command at the various barricades had had special orders.Recently a very great number of aristos had succeeded in escaping out of France and in reaching England safely.There were curious rumours about these escapes; they had become very frequent and singularly daring; the people's minds were becoming strangely excited about it all.Sergeant Grospierre had been sent to the guillotine for allowing a whole family of aristos to slip out of the North Gate under his very nose.
It was asserted that these escapes were organised by a band of Englishmen, whose daring seemed to be unparalleled, and who, from sheer desire to meddle in what did not concern them, spent their spare time in snatching away lawful victims destined for Madame la Guillotine.These rumours soon grew in extravagance; there was no doubt that this band of meddlesome Englishmen did exist; moreover, they seemed to be under the leadership of a man whose pluck and audacity were almost fabulous.Strange stories were afloat of how he and those aristos whom he rescued became suddenly invisible as they reached the barricades and escaped out of the gates by sheer supernatural agency.
No one had seen these mysterious Englishmen; as for their leader, he was never spoken of, save with a superstitious shudder.
Citoyen Foucquier-Tinville would in the course of the day receive a scrap of paper from some mysterious source; sometimes he would find it in the pocket of his coat, at others it would be handed to him by someone in the crowd, whilst he was on his way to the sitting of the Committee of Public Safety.The paper always contained a brief notice that the band of meddlesome Englishmen were at work, and it was always signed with a device drawn in red--a little star-shaped flower, which we in England call the Scarlet Pimpernel.Within a few hours of the receipt of this impudent notice, the citoyens of the Committee of Public Safety would hear that so many royalists and aristocrats had succeeded in reaching the coast, and were on their way to England and safety.
The guards at the gates had been doubled, the sergeants in command had been threatened with death, whilst liberal rewards were offered for the capture of these daring and impudent Englishmen.
There was a sum of five thousand francs promised to the man who laid hands on the mysterious and elusive Scarlet Pimpernel.
Everyone felt that Bibot would be that man, and Bibot allowed that belief to take firm root in everybody's mind; and so, day after day, people came to watch him at the West Gate, so as to be present when he laid hands on any fugitive aristo who perhaps might be accompanied by that mysterious Englishman.
"Bah!" he said to his trusted corporal, "Citoyen Grospierre was a fool! Had it been me now, at that North Gate last week..."Citoyen Bibot spat on the ground to express his contempt for his comrade's stupidity.
"How did it happen, citoyen?" asked the corporal.
"Grospierre was at the gate, keeping good watch," began Bibot, pompously, as the crowd closed in round him, listening eagerly to his narrative."We've all heard of this meddlesome Englishman, this accursed Scarlet Pimpernel.He won't get through MY gate, MORBLEU! unless he be the devil himself.But Grospierre was a fool.
The market carts were going through the gates; there was one laden with casks, and driven by an old man, with a boy beside him.
Grospierre was a bit drunk, but he thought himself very clever; he looked into the casks--most of them, at least--and saw they were empty, and let the cart go through."A murmur of wrath and contempt went round the group of ill-clad wretches, who crowded round Citoyen Bibot.
"Half an hour later," continued the sergeant, "up comes a captain of the guard with a squad of some dozen soldiers with him.
`Has a car gone through?' he asks of Grospierre, breathlessly.`Yes,'
says Grospierre, `not half an hour ago.' `And you have let them escape,' shouts the captain furiously.`You'll go to the guillotine for this, citoyen sergeant! that cart held concealed the CI-DEVANTDuc de Chalis and all his family!' `What!' thunders Grospierre, aghast.`Aye! and the driver was none other than that cursed Englishman, the Scarlet Pimpernel.'"A howl of execration greeted this tale.Citoyen Grospierre had paid for his blunder on the guillotine, but what a fool! oh!
what a fool!
Bibot was laughing so much at his own tale that it was some time before he could continue.
"`After them, my men,' shouts the captain," he said after a while, "`remember the reward; after them, they cannot have gone far!'
And with that he rushes through the gate followed by his dozen soldiers.""But it was too late!" shouted the crowd, excitedly.
"They never got them!"
"Curse that Grospierre for his folly!"
"He deserved his fate!"
