a captain of the guard appeared suddenly. But he was known to Bibot, and there was no fear of his turning out to be a sly Englishman in disguise.
“A cart, …” he shouted breathlessly, even before he had reached the gates.
“What cart?” asked Bibot, roughly.
“Driven by an old hag.… A covered cart …”
“There were a dozen …”
“An old hag who said her son had the plague?”
“Yes …”
“You have not let them go?”
“Morbleu!” said Bibot, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.
“The cart contained the ci-devant Comtesse de Tournay and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned to death.”
“And their driver?” muttered Bibot, as a superstitious shudder ran down his spine.
“Sacrè tonnerre,” said the captain, “but it is feared that it was that accursed Englishman himself—the Scarlet Pimpernel.”