“They will be quiet and still without persuasion,” said papa; “eh, children?”

And Jean, Andre, and Marguerite murmured:  “Yes!” whilst maman and I drew them closer to us and said everything we could think of to make them still more brave.

And the whispering, commanding voice went on after awhile: 

“Now will you allow yourselves to be muffled and bound, and, after that, will you swear that whatever happens, whatever you may see or hear, you will neither move nor speak?  Not only your own lives, but those of many brave men will depend upon your fulfilment of this oath.”

Papa made no reply save to raise his hand and eyes up to where God surely was watching over us all.  Maman said in her gentle, even voice: 

“For myself and my children, I swear to do all that you tell us.”

A great feeling of confidence had entered into her heart, just as it had done into mine.  We looked at one another and knew that we were both thinking of the same thing:  we were thinking of the brave Englishman and his gallant little band of heroes, about whom we had heard many wonderful tales—­how they had rescued a number of innocent people who were unjustly threatened with the guillotine; and we all knew that the tall figure, disguised in horrible rags, who spoke to us with such a gentle yet commanding voice, was the man whom rumour credited with supernatural powers, and who was known by the mysterious name of “The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

Hardly had we sworn to do his bidding than his friends most unceremoniously threw great pieces of sacking over our heads, and then proceeded to tie ropes round our bodies.  At least, I know that that is what one of them was doing to me, and from one or two whispered words of command which reached my ear I concluded that papa and maman and the children were being dealt with in the same summary way.

I felt hot and stifled under that rough bit of sacking, but I would not have moved or even sighed for worlds.  Strangely enough, as soon as my eyes and ears were shut off from the sounds and sights immediately round me, I once more became conscious of the horrible and awful din which was going on, not only on the other side of our prison walls, but inside the whole of the Abbaye building and in the street beyond.

Once more I heard those terrible howls of rage and of satisfied hatred, uttered by the assassins who were being paid by the government of our beautiful country to butcher helpless prisoners in their hundreds.

Suddenly I felt myself hoisted up off my feet and slung up on to a pair of shoulders that must have been very powerful indeed, for I am no light weight, and once more I heard the voice, the very sound of which was delight, quite close to my ear this time, giving a brief and comprehensive command: 

“All ready!—­remember your part—­en avant!”

Then it added in English.  “Here, Tony, you start kicking against the door whilst we begin to shout!”