Agnes waited until there was no one in sight, then she leaned forward over the table and whispered under her breath:
"They say, citizen, that you alone in Paris know the whereabouts of the
English milor'—of him who is called the Scarlet Pimpernel…."
"Hush-sh-sh!" said the old man quickly, for just at that moment two men had gone by, in ragged coats and torn breeches, who had leered at Agnes and her neat cap and skirt as they passed. Now they had turned the angle of the street and the old man, too, sank his voice to a whisper.
"I know nothing of any Englishman," he muttered.
"Yes, you do," she rejoined insistently. "When poor Antoine Carre was somewhere in hiding and threatened with arrest, and his mother dared not write to him lest her letter be intercepted, she spoke to you about the English milor', and the English milor' found Antoine Carre and took him and his mother safely out of France. Mme. Carre is my godmother…. I saw her the very night when she went to meet the English milor' at his commands. I know all that happened then…. I know that you were the intermediary."
"And if I was," he muttered sullenly as he fiddled with his pen and paper, "maybe I've had cause to regret it. For a week after that Carre episode I dared not show my face in the streets of Paris; for nigh on a fortnight I dared not ply my trade … I have only just ventured again to set up in business. I am not going to risk my old neck again in a hurry…."
"It is a matter of life and death," urged Agnes, as once more the tears rushed to her pleading eyes and the look of misery settled again upon her face.
"Your life, citizeness?" queried the old man, "or that of citizen-deputy
Fabrice?"
"Hush!" she broke in again, as a look of real terror now overspread her face. Then she added under her breath: "You know?"
"I know that Mademoiselle Agnes de Lucines is fiancee to the citizen-deputy Arnould Fabrice," rejoined the old man quietly, "and that it is Mademoiselle Agnes de Lucines who is speaking with me now."