"I entreat you to accept my apologies," the other rejoined with utmost courtesy. "I was on the verge of losing my temper, which we in England would call demmed bad form. I'll not transgress again. I pray you, proceed with what you were saying. So interesting—demmed interesting! You were talking about murdering a woman in cold blood, I think——"
"In hot blood, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined more firmly. "Blood fired by thoughts of a just revenge."
"Pardon! My mistake! As you were saying——"
"'Tis you who attack us. You—the meddlesome Scarlet Pimpernel, with your accursed gang! . . . We defend ourselves as best we can, using what weapons lie closest to our hand——"
"Such as murder, outrage, abduction . . . and wearing breeches the cut of which would provoke a saint to indignation!"
"Murder, abduction, outrage, as you will, Sir Percy," Chauvelin retorted, as cool now as his opponent. "Had you ceased to interfere in the affairs of France when first you escaped punishment for your machinations, you would not now be in the sorry plight in which your own intrigues have at last landed you. Had you left us alone, we should by now have forgotten you."
"Which would have been such a pity, my dear M. Chambertin," Blakeney rejoined gravely. "I should not like you to forget me. Believe me, I have enjoyed life so much these past two years,'I would not give up those pleasures even for that of seeing you and your friends have a bath or wear tidy buckles on your shoes."
"You will have cause to indulge in those pleasures within the next few days, Sir Percy," Chauvelin rejoined dryly.
"What?" Sir Percy exclaimed. "The Committee of Public Safety going to have a bath? Or the Revolutionary Tribunal? Which?"
But Chauvelin was determined not to lose his temper again. Indeed, he abhorred this man so deeply that he felt no anger against him, no resentment; only a cold, calculating hate.