Full well did Percy Blakeney guess that for the space of one second his
most cherished secret hovered upon his wife's lips, one turn of the
balance of Fate, one breath from the mouth of an unseen sprite, and
Marguerite was ready to shout:

"Do not allow this monstrous thing to be! The Scarlet Pimpernel, whom
you all admire for his bravery, and love for his daring, stands before you
now, face to face with his deadliest enemy, who is here to lure him to his
doom!"

For that momentous second therefore Percy Blakeney held his wife's gaze
with the magnetism of his own; all there was in him of love, of entreaty,
of trust, and of command went out to her through that look with which
he kept her eyes riveted upon his face.

Then he saw the rigidity of her attitude relax. She closed her eyes in
order to shut out the whole world from her suffering soul. She seemed to
be gathering all the mental force of which her brain was capable, for one
great effort of self-control. Then she took Juliette's hand in hers, and
turned to go out of the room; the gentlemen bowed as she swept past
them, her rich silken gown making a soft hush-sh-sh as she went. She
nodded to some, curtseyed to the Prince, and had at the last moment the
supreme courage and pride to turn her head once more towards her
husband, in order to reassure him finally that his secret was as safe with
her now, in this hour of danger, as it had been in the time of triumph.

She smiled and passed out of his sight, preceded by Desiree Candeille,
who, escorted by one of the gentlemen, had become singularly silent and
subdued.