I took a bit of dialogue from the movies and tweaked it, you may recognize.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Marguerite could not figure out why the fact that Percy Blakeney thought that she had betrayed Mark Cyr cut her so deep. Of all the people who were pointing fingers at her, he was the only one that she cared about. Why?
The two of them proceeded with their exercises and only spoke the required French for the remainder of class. It was tormenting Marguerite to be sitting beside him for so long with such a wall now built up in between them.
At last, the professor excused the class. Marguerite hastily stuffed her supplies into her backpack as fast as possible. She threw Blake a hurt frown before turning to head out the door.
She had a little time to kill before her next class, so she began to stroll towards the theater. Professor Regent had said that the school would be putting on an opera in a couple months. Not that Marguerite wanted to audition for the opera, she didn't have a strong enough voice for that kind of singing. Besides, it was too late for auditions anyway. She just wanted to go see if she could watch rehearsals, if they were going on.
As she walked, she suddenly became aware of someone behind her. She glanced back and found Percy Blakeney strutting along just a few paces behind her. Puzzled, Marguerite turned away from him and kept moving. He probably just had a class in the same direction or something. However, he continued to trail her until she was almost to the theater.
Finally, at the bottom of the white steps of the theater, Marguerite stopped and turned to face him. "Are you following me?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone.
Blake peered over the top of his sunglasses at her for a moment before pushing them back into place. "You left your text book," he said, holding a book out towards her.
Marguerite looked down at the book in his hands. It was, indeed, her French book. "Thank you," she said, taking it from him. She looked up into his face. "Why didn't you give it to me back at the classroom?"
"Marguerite!"
Marguerite and Blake both turned to see Paul Chauvelin headed in their direction. He stopped at Marguerite's side and observed her and Blake together. "Am I interrupting something?"
Marguerite realized how close she was standing to Blake and quickly took a step back. "No, no," she said, "Um, Blake, this is Paul Chauvelin. He's a French foreign exchange student. And Paul, this is Percy Blakeney. He was just returning my book to me." She held up the text book for emphasis.
Paul and Blake stared at each other for a moment, Blake simply wearing a slight dopey smile and Paul seeming to be trying to process the extreme trendy sight in front of him. Finally, Paul stuck out his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Blake grasped his hand and shook it vigorously, grinning all the while. "Yes, yes. Very good to meet you as well."
Paul nodded and withdrew his hand after Blake would not release it on his own. "Marvelously clever lot, you French people. All of you!" Blake said, "How you manage to speak that unspeakable language just blows me away."
"You're too kind," Paul replied, obviously holding back a smirk.
"No, no, I mean it," Blake said, "Everyday in French class I just simply cannot grasp those ridiculous pronunciations and letters and... whatever. You are by far the best and cleverest race in the world. Mind you..." He began to look Paul up and down. "I can't say the same about your clothes."
"Clothes?" Paul repeated, looking down at what he was wearing.
"Mm-hmm," Blake said with a nod, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"What's wrong with them?"
"'What's wrong with them?'! Oh, my poor misguided Frenchie. Everything is wrong!" Blake cried out, removing his glasses, "The color, the shape of that coat, those shoes with that belt, the way you've wrapped your scarf about yourself! I could go on."
Marguerite had wondered at the beginning of the conversation if she could perhaps slip away, but she found herself rather amused with Blake's criticism of Paul and wondered what other remarks he would throw in his direction so decided to stay.
"Now if you'd like some help with fixing your wardrobe, I can provide some for you," Blake continued, "But let me tell you, it really isn't easy to keep up an appearance. It takes all my brains."
"I can believe that," Paul said dryly.
"Yes," Blake said, smiling, not catching on to Paul's meaning, "Now I'll only give you one piece of advice for now, but should you like some more, I'm not hard to find."
Paul raised an eyebrow as he eyeballed the very trendy clothing of Blake's. "I'm sure you're not."
"See, your scarf shouldn't be just tossed over your neck like that." Blake reached out and removed the scarf from Paul's neck. "It should go around once like this, so the two ends come around to the front, so the front goes to the back. Otherwise the back would be in the front which isn't right at all. The front should be in the back-"
"What in the world are you talking about?" Paul interrupted.
"Confusing, I know. Like I said, it takes brains. I know you'll get it eventually, you're a Frenchie. And Frenchies are so clever."
"Quite," Paul said with what looked like a forced smile, "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Marguerite."
"Of course," Blake replied, "I'll be off. And Monsieur Chauvelin, if you ever need any advice..."
"Yes, I remember," Paul said.
Blake smiled and slipping his shades back on, he turned on his heel and walked away.
As soon as Blake was out of sight, Marguerite turned slowly towards Paul. "What do you want?" she asked coldly.
The corners of Paul's mouth tweaked upwards slightly. "Only a word," he replied, "What's with the tone?"
Marguerite crossed her arms. "Don't give me that. You know exactly what. You ruined my life."
"Me?" Paul asked, pointing a finger to his chest, exaggerating a look of surprise. Then he chuckled, annoying Marguerite. He began to look around. "Erm, where were you headed before that moron stopped you?"
Marguerite frowned at him. "I was going to watch the opera rehearsals, if they were going on."
"Very well. I'll join you and we can talk in there."
Marguerite was not pleased with this prospect, but nevertheless she and Paul walked side-by-side into the theater. Marguerite knew exactly where the auditorium in which the opera practices would be held and quickly headed in its direction.
They found the auditorium in no time and the sound of rich melodic voices reached their ears. They cautiously entered the very large and expansive auditorium and saw the cast on stage singing their lungs out. Marguerite recognized one of the lead singers. It was Laura, Armand's girlfriend. She didn't know that she could sing, especially with such power.
Marguerite and Paul found seats at the very back of the auditorium. The performers' voices were considerably quieter, so there was no way that they would be able to hear them if they talked.
"What do you want?" Marguerite asked again, "I have little patience for you after what you did to me."
Paul smirked. "Don't worry, this shouldn't take very long. I only have a favor to ask."
Marguerite almost laughed at that. "What makes you think that I would grant you a favor after you implicated me with your disgusting little Republic Operation and have completely destroyed my life?"
"After you hear what I have to say, I think you might be more keen."
Marguerite frowned, but she didn't speak. Paul took the opportunity to continue.
"I trust you know who the Scarlet Pimpernel is?"
Again, Marguerite nearly laughed. "Of course I have! People around here hardly ever talk about anything else. Anytime that man strikes a move, it's the talk of the town for at least a week."
"So then you know that he's an enemy to the Republic?"
"I would assume so."
"Well, it may interest you to know that recently, my people have uncovered a piece of evidence which reveals that man to be a student or a staff member from this very school."
Marguerite started. "What?"
"It's true," Paul said. He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. "I hacked into a student's email and discovered this message signed with 'SP'."
Marguerite took the paper and opened it. It was from Andrew Foulkes's email. The message was short, only informing Andrew that the sender would be at the Grenville Dance in two weeks. It was indeed signed with 'SP'.
"Couldn't you just trace back the email address?" Marguerite asked.
"We tried, but the address had been deleted," Paul replied bitterly.
"So what do you need me for?"
A grin crept onto Paul's face. "I need your help in finding out who the Scarlet Pimpernel is."
This time, Marguerite did laugh. "You've got to be joking. How on earth would I find out who he is?"
"You've gone to this school longer than I have," Paul replied, "You have more classes than I have, you know people better than I do. You have more friends than me..."
"Just a moment," Marguerite interrupted, "You want me to spy? That's what you're saying."
"Spy is kind of a harsh word," Paul said, "You'd just be keeping your eyes open and reporting any suspicious activity to me."
"So spying?" Marguerite said plainly.
"Oh, I suppose if you must be so blunt about it. Yes."
Marguerite scoffed. "What makes you think that I would help- Why on earth would I- I mean did you honestly believe that I would-" she sputtered incredulously.
"Is that a no, then?" Paul asked.
"Most definitely!"
"Alright," Paul said casually, "Then I suppose you'd rather your brother died in his place?"
Marguerite froze. "Armand? What are you talking about?"
Paul slowly pulled another piece of folded paper from his pocket. "He's been conspiring with the Scarlet Pimpernel."
Marguerite stared wide-eyed at the second piece of paper. "That-that's ridiculous. He wouldn't."
"You wanna bet?" Paul asked, waving the paper in front of her face, "This was also in Foulkes's email, from your brother. He asked Foulkes to tell the Pimpernel that he had seen the French foreign exchange student and that his suspicions are probably right about him being a member of the Republic."
Paul unfolded the paper and showed it to Marguerite. "This, here, is undeniable proof of your brother's interference in the Republic's activities. And I'm going to use it against him... unless you choose to cooperate, of course."
Marguerite's face hardened and she swallowed as she looked at the message. "Now you're... blackmailing me?"
"You can call it that if you'd like, but it's not about to guilt me into changing my proposition."
Marguerite didn't move, didn't respond. What could she do? How could she seriously help kill a good, heroic man? But then how could she give the word to kill her own brother? Maybe she could warn Armand, tell him to get away! Or maybe she could tell the police and they could give him some sort of protection.
"And don't even think about trying to warn your brother," Paul interrupted her train of thought, "If you so much as speak of this to anyone, I promise that your brother will die."
Marguerite closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She opened her eyes and finally made her decision. "If I agree to help you... will you give me that message?"
"As soon as I know the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel, this paper is yours."
