Possibly, if she had then and there fully realized all that the future meant, she would have gone mad with the horror of it all.
“Lady Blakeney,” began Chauvelin after he had quickly dismissed the soldiers from the room, “when you and I parted from one another just now, I had no idea that I should so soon have the pleasure of a personal conversation with Sir Percy.... There is no occasion yet, believe me, for sorrow or fear.... Another twenty-four hours at most, and you will be on board the 'Day-Dream' outward bound for England. Sir Percy himself might perhaps accompany you; he does not desire that you should journey to Paris, and I may safely say, that in his mind, he has already accepted certain little conditions which I have been forced to impose upon him ere I sign the order for your absolute release.”
“Conditions?” she repeated vaguely and stupidly, looking in bewilderment from one to the other.
“You are tired, m'dear,” said Sir Percy quietly, “will you not sit down?”
He held the chair gallantly for her. She tried to read his face, but could not catch even a flash from beneath the heavy lids which obstinately veiled his eyes.
“Oh! it is a mere matter of exchanging signatures,” continued Chauvelin in response to her inquiring glance and toying with the papers which were scattered on the table. “Here you see is the order to allow Sir Percy Blakeney and his wife, nee Marguerite St. Just, to quit the town of Boulogne unmolested.”
He held a paper out towards Marguerite, inviting her to look at it. She caught sight of an official-looking document, bearing the motto and seal of the Republic of France, and of her own name and Percy's written thereon in full.
“It is perfectly en regle, I assure you,” continued Chauvelin, “and only awaits my signature.”
He now took up another paper which looked like a long closely-written letter. Marguerite watched his every movement, for instinct told her that the supreme moment had come. There was a look of almost superhuman cruelty and malice in the little Frenchman's eyes as he fixed them on the impassive figure of Sir Percy, the while with slightly trembling hands he fingered that piece of paper and smoothed out its creases with loving care.
“I am quite prepared to sign the order for your release, Lady Blakeney,” he said, keeping his gaze still keenly fixed upon Sir Percy. “When it is signed you will understand that our measures against the citizens of Boulogne will no longer hold good, and that on the contrary, the general amnesty and free pardon will come into force.”