dread work wandered, tired and silent, back to their homes, and when rattling carts bore their gruesome burdens to the public burying-place.
But what are social upheavals, revolutions or cataclysms to a lover absorbed in the contemplation of his beloved? Maurice Reversac sat beside Josette and could see her adorable profile with the small tip-tilted nose and the outline of her cheek so like a ripe peach. Josette sat silent and motionless at first, so Maurice felt emboldened to put out a timid hand and take hold of hers. She made no resistance and he thought of a surety that he would swoon with joy because she allowed that exquisite little hand to rest contented in his great rough palm. It felt just like a bird, soft and warm and fluttering, like those sparrows in up the trees.
"Josette," Maurice ventured to murmur after a little while, "you are glad to see me... you said so... didn't you, Josette?"
She was not looking at him, but he didn't mind that, for though the twilight was fast drawing in he could still see her adorable profile -- that delicious tip-tilted nose and the lashes that curled like a fringe of gold over her eyes. The hood had fallen back from her head and the soft evening breeze stirred the tendrils of her chestnut-coloured hair.
"You are so beautiful, Josette," Maurice sighed, "and I am such a clumsy lout, but I would know how to make you happy. Happy! My God! I would make you as happy as the birds -- without a care in the world. And all day you would just go about singing -- singing -- because you would have forgotten by then what sorrow was like."
Encouraged by her silence he ventured to draw a little nearer to her.
"I have seen," he murmured quite close to her ear, "an apartment that would be just the right setting for you, Josette darling: only three rooms and a little kitchen, but the morning sun comes pouring in through the big windows and there is a clump of chestnut trees in front in which the birds will sing in the spring from early dawn while you still lie in bed. I shall have got up by then and will be in the kitchen getting some hot milk for you; then I will bring you the warm milk, and while you drink it I shall sit and watch the sunshine play about in your hair."
Never before had Maurice plucked up sufficient courage to talk at such length, usually when Josette was beside him he was so absorbed in looking at her and longing for her that his tongue refused him service; for these were days when true lovers were timid and la jeune fille was an almost sacred being, whose limpid soul no profane word dared disturb, and Maurice had been brought up by an adoring mother in these rigid principles. This cruel and godless Revolution had, indeed, shattered many ideals and toughened the fibres of men's hearts and women's sensibilities, else Maurice would never have dared thus to approach the object of his dreams -- her whom he hoped one day to have for wife.
Josette's silence had emboldened him, and the fact that she had allowed her hand to rest in his all this while. Now he actually dared to put out his arm and encircle her shoulders; he was, in fact, drawing her to him, feeling that he was on the point of stepping across the threshold of Paradise, when slowly she turned her face to him and looked him straight between the eyes. Her own appeared puzzled and there was a frown as of great perplexity between her brows.
"Maurice," she asked, and there was no doubt that she was both puzzled and astonished, "are you, perchance, trying to make love to me?"
Then, as he remained silent and looked, in his turn, both bewildered and hurt, she gave a light laugh, gently disengaged her hand and patted him on the cheek.
"My poor Maurice!" she said, "I wish I had listened sooner, but I was thinking of other things...."
When a man had had the feeling that he has actually reached the gates of Paradise and that a kindly Saint Peter was already rattling his keys so as to let him in -- when he has felt this for over half an hour and then, in a few seconds, is hurtled down into an abyss of disappointment, his first sensation is as if he had been stunned by a terrific blow on the head, and he becomes entirely tongue-tied.
Bewildered and dumb, all Maurice could do was to stare at the adorable vision of a golden-haired girl whom he worshipped and who, with a light heart and a gay laugh, had just dealt him the most cruel blow that any man had ever been called upon to endure.
The worst of it was that this adorable golden-haired girl had apparently no notion of how cruel had been the blow, for she prattled on about the other things of which she had been thinking quite oblivious of the subject-matter of poor Maurice's impassioned pleading.
"Maurice dear," she said, "listen to me and do not talk nonsense."
Nonsense!! Ye gods!
"You have got to help me, Maurice, to find the Scarlet Pimpernel."
Her beautiful eyes, which she turned full upon him, were aglow with enthusiasm -- enthusiasm for something in which he had no share. Nor did he understand what she was talking about. All he knew was that she had dismissed his pleading as nonsense, and that with a curious smile on her lips she was just turning a knife round and round in his heart.
And, oh, how that hurt!
But she also said that she wanted his help, so he tried very hard to get at her meaning, though she seemed to be prattling on rather inconsequently.
"Charles-Léon," she said, "is very ill, you know, Maurice dear -- that is, not so very ill, but the doctor says he must have change of air or he will perish in a decline."
"A doctor can always get a permit for a patient in extremis..." Maurice put in, assuming a judicial manner.
"Don't be stupid, Maurice!" she retorted impatiently. "We all know that the doctor can get a permit for Charles-Léon, but he can't get one for Louise or for me, and where is Charles-Léon to go with neither of us to look after him?"
"Then what's to be done?"
"Try and listen more attentively, Maurice," she retorted. "You are not really listening."
"I am," he protested, "I swear I am!"
"Really -- really?"
"Really, Josette -- with both ears and all the intelligence I've got."
"Very well, then. You have heard of the Scarlet Pimpernel, haven't you?"
"We all have -- in a way."
"What do you mean by 'in a way'?"
"Well, no one is quite sure if he really exists, and..."
"Maurice, don't, in Heaven's name, be stupid! You must have brains or Maître de Croissy could not do with you as his confidential clerk. So do use your brains, Maurice, and tell me if the Scarlet Pimpernel does not exist, then how did the Maillys get away -- and the Frontenacs -- and the Tournays -- and -- and...? Oh, Maurice, I hate your being so stupid!"
"You have only got to tell me, Josette, what you wish me to do," poor Maurice put in very humbly, "and I will do it, of course."
"I want you to help me find the Scarlet Pimpernel."
"Gladly will I help you, Josette; but won't it be like looking for a needle in a haystack?"
"Not at all," this intrepid little Joan of Arc asserted. "Listen, Maurice! In our workshop there is a girl, Agnes Minet, who was at one time in service with a Madame Carré, whose son Antoine was in hiding because he was threatened with arrest. His mother didn't dare write to him lest her letters be intercepted. Well, there was a public letter-writer who plied his trade at the corner of
