Sons of France Chapter 5: Reunion

Armand sat in his cell on the floor, with his head resting on his bent knees, and his mind courageously endeavoring to think positively. Only a few hours passed before another visitor arrived: Marguerite.

"Margot!" gasped Armand, both relieved and apprehensive about his sister's arrival. Relieved, that she was safe; and apprehensive regarding the implacable scolding he would receive concerning his heedless actions.

Marguerite was indeed sharp of tongue when she asked, "What happened to you?" On the inside her feelings were battling fiercely with one another, for she was bitterly disappointed in her brother's behavior—and yet she was so exceedingly anxious about his safety. "The Judges are saying that all Revolutionaries should be death…" Marguerite meant to sound strong, but her voice was slightly hoarse as she made the foreboding statement.

"You must help convince them of my innocence," said Armand quickly. "There are plenty of aristos who will stand up for me. If worst comes to worst, my dear, perhaps Percy could do something for me…." He trailed off, and then added with a stiffness of voice that disguised his anxiety, "Of course, I should be glad to die for what is right and good."

"Right and good?" exclaimed Marguerite with sudden vehemence. Containing her emotions with effort, she went on quickly, "I am not altogether sure I can prove your innocence, as I am in doubt that you are indeed thus. You have gone in over your head with this leGourd affair—how can such a stubborn and ridiculous mockery of valor attest to what is right and good?"

"My Marguerite," rejoined Armand stiffly, "are you accusing me of Hastings' murder?"

Lady Blakeney very nearly snarled in reply, "I am not so stupid to believe you capable of that! However as previously stated, you have gone too far with your silly honor. You're getting into matters fur-lengths over your head, little brother!"

"I was a fool about leGourd," admitted Armand hastily, "but I am determined to defend myself concerning the other charges! I am protecting your husband and I may have to die for it, and that, my dear sister, is worthy of a little praise!"

"Praise? Glory? Honor? Oh Armand, is that all you ever think of? Be reasonable!" Marguerite pursed her lips and half-sighed, half-growled in irritation. "Nay," she added bitterly; "nay, perhaps you cannot be sensible. Your immaturity prevents it!"

"That wasn't what I meant!" Armand insisted. "I'm not doing any of this for honor—"

"Do stop trying to exonerate yourself; you're not a child anymore!"

Armand stood up and gripped the iron bars that separated him from freedom. "No, I am not a child," he agreed, raising his voice; "Margot, you are the one who needs to accept that, not I! All my life you have belittled me; everyone has! I've recently discovered my own weariness of pursuing glory, making myself into some hero which isn't me at all; but I am also weary of playing the role that you want me to perform. I am not a child and you are not my mother; you are an overly controlling, manipulative woman!"

Marguerite drew back from the cell. She had never heard her brother be so honest nor so verbally brutal. At first she was angry and hurt, but as she thought about his words, she was aghast to distinguish their truth. Much of her rank and riches she owed to her scheming and manipulation; and although she presumed herself rid of those undesirable qualities after her happy marriage, their influence in her sibling relationship was now appallingly clear. To Marguerite's way of thinking, Armand's acts of service to her were kind favors, but she had been the real caretaker throughout their days as orphans. Although Armand was included in the Scarlet Pimpernel's League, his ventures were always minor compared to those of Percy and Andrew. Perhaps, Marguerite thought, her disappointment in Armand was a result of his having stepped out of the inferiority zone she had imagined for him.

"Margot," said Armand softly, for he saw tears glistening in her appealing blue eyes, "my dear, dear Margot, I am sorry! I'm afraid I had to be honest, but I hope you know that I would rather die than willfully make you unhappy…"

"Do not be sorry," replied Marguerite, collecting herself. "It is I who was wrong. For so long I have mistreated you. Everything you said was right; I was belittling you. But there is more than that…when you told me about how you betrayed Percy, I was angry…." Now the emotions, which she had been trying to keep in check, had slipped through her tightly-clenched hands like sand through a sieve. Lady Blakeney's voice shook with small sobs as she told Armand, "Oh, I can easily forgive you for the betrayal now that it is all done with…but I was so frightened that perhaps my brother was becoming estranged from me. How could you not tell me about all this before now? Don't you see?—that's why I'm unhappy! I'm not certain that I can trust you."

Armand tried to explain the circumstances. "Percy wanted to protect you and me from a rift in our relationship, Margot. He made me promise to keep the betrayal secret, for he did not know that by protecting me he would create a rift himself. I'm sorry I did not come forward with the truth earlier; I was too busy trying to redeem myself."

Marguerite smiled through her tears, and presently wiped them away from her face. "I understand your struggle, my brother," she said at length. "After all…I am guilty of betrayal as well. Unwittingly I put the life of my husband into Chauvelin's hands; that was before I knew that he was the Scarlet Pimpernel. When I tried to redeem myself, to go after him and prove my worth, it only made things worse for me. In the end I came out alive, because Percy had the whole thing under control the entire time. Armand, Jeanne is having the same struggle as we are; she wanted to come after you and prove that she was loyal, prove her own worth to herself and to her…"

"Tell her not to worry," Armand interjected fervently. "Tell her she could not be more loyal were she a hound, nor more beautiful were she a rose!"

Smiling, Marguerite nodded. "I will send her word. You know, Armand, it's all rather odd about the self-redemptive thing. We're all so busy running around in circles that we don't bother to look upward, where our destinies have been written in the stars since before the dawn of time. I suppose, that's what Percy means when he says, 'Le Bon Dieu decides.' "

For a while Armand was quiet, tired from all the emotional stress. Yet there was one more grueling task at hand. "Marguerite my dearest," he whispered, "you can trust me with your life. I know you need proof…so I'll tell you about leGourd. About everything. And then you must tell Percy."

It took quite a while for the young Frenchman to explain all the haunting events concerning Sir leGourd's, but when it was over he felt relieved and light, as if a massive weight had been taken off his shoulders. Marguerite felt the same way; but after a moment, as usual, she got right down to business.

"We'll find some way to get you out of here," she confirmed. "Oh, but Armand!—Percy is nowhere to be found! I suspected to find him here with you. Has he not spoken with you yet? Well the, I suppose it's my task to call on the aristocrats and ask them to vouch for you." Marguerite rose gracefully, balancing perfectly despite her cumbersome (and beautiful) silk gown and weighty hairstyle. Just as she was about to go, Armand grabbed her hand.

"Margot," he whispered, "you might have your own evils, just like anybody, but I believe you are a brave woman. Remember back when you thought Percy didn't love you, when you and I spoke together at the sea by the Fisherman's Rest? Well, I tell you again that it is not for me to turn my back on righteousness. …If I—if they…take me away…before you return, give my love to Jeanne; I know you will always be my own brave sister."

Fighting tears, Marguerite said, "And like I did at the Fisherman's Rest, I ask you again to be prudent!"

Armand smiled. "I'm afraid the word 'prudent' and the name St. Just do not pair well together!" Then, kissing his sister's hand, Armand retreated into the dark corners of his prison cell.

"Get up, St. Just! It's time to go!"

Armand had barely gotten to his feet before the guard swung the door open, took him by the arm, and led him out of the prison area. "Am I going to see the Judges?" asked Armand.

The guard, unusually grim, only said in reply, "You won't have time to appear before the judges, St. Just."

Armand did not understand this context clue until he arrived in the courtyard of the House of Justice, wherein his face became white as he perceived what waited for him there. It was a firing squad. "Wait," said Armand shakily; "am I mistaken, or didn't this new fellow of yours—Bonaparte—agree to embrace fair trials?"

"The judges received information from Sir Le Gourd and his friends," stated the guard. They decreed the evidence they had received was more than enough to condemn you for treason. Some of the men suggested letting you give your own testimony, but LeGourd assured them that you were out of your right mind and only spoke nonsense. …With the Restoration and all, LeGourd had almost undeniable power over the Judges."

"So much for equality," said Armand grimly. "Fine then—" he straightened up, and walked to the place he was instructed to stand— "I am not afraid to die. I have a single request and that is to give my love to Jeanne Lange and Marguerite Blakeney. Will you swear to do this?"

Apparently somewhat sympathetic of Armand, the guard nodded his consent. He stared at Armand for a few seconds, while the silent soldiers readied their rifles, but his willpower seemed to break and he presently retreated into the building. Now only Armand, the soldiers, and the janitor (who as mentioned before had been around Armand for some time) were standing in the courtyard.

Armand was at first too apprehensive to look into the face of death. Would those shots hurt when they hit—bullet upon bullet upon bullet? Would Maguerite be heartbroken? Had Armand lived a decent life? All these thoughts and dozens more flew around his brain like a deck of cards tossed into the air and scattered on the floor; and like the cards, the thoughts began to fall back into place. Armand was no longer concerned with those feelings—an overpowering sense of peace was upon him, for he felt secure about where he was going, and behold he could look up at the firing squad.

Click—the soldiers set their guns. Their fingers closed in on the triggers. Bang! Bang! Bang!—incessantly!

But Armand was unharmed. It took several seconds for him to rouse enough courage to open his tightly-shut eyes. To his shock, he found that all the soldiers' rifles seemed to have backfired on themselves. Several soldiers were wounded, others merely irritated, and there was a great deal of shouting. Sometime amidst the chaos, Armand felt someone grab and pull him into the shadows of the corner of the wall. It was the old janitor.

"Jolly good joke, eh?" the janitor sneered.

For a moment Armand did not understand; he could only stare at the old man in confusion. Then he recognized the sparkling blue eyes, the English accent, the strong jaw, and the noble brow—this was no prison-hand, this was Percy himself! Once again the Scarlet Pimpernel had baffled and outsmarted dozens of people—including Armand—with his genius and disguise! He had had an eye on Armand throughout the past two days, and he must have arranged for the guns to backfire.

At first, it was puzzling how Percy could have arrived in France so soon after Armand's capture. "You…you knew didn't you?" whispered Armand. "About LeGourd, about Hastings—you knew everything the entire time! How?"

Percy chuckled and raised a slender finger to his lips. "Ssh! All in good time, my dear Armand. For now, do as I say." He spoke hurriedly. "Climb over the wall this instant, quick as a mouse. I'll follow. Those fumbling idiots in the courtyard will hardly notice."

Armand questioned the plan as he hurriedly scaled the wall. "They will see me, Percy! They will know that I have gone and soldiers shall be upon us in moments."

Reaching the top of the wall, Percy helped Armand up and they dashed across the rampart looking down into the busy Parisian street. "They'll know of your departure," he said, "but they cannot catch you, for I've a card to play yet. See down there?—It's the hearse meant to take you away. I've bribed the driver to answer to my orders; if we can get inside the hearse then the worst is over."

After sliding down the far side of the wall, breaking their fall on a heap of rubbish, Armand and Percy made a mad dash for the black-horsed death coach. They threw themselves into the back of the coach like madmen. Then the hearse was off; just in time too, for a small unit of mounted soldiers were issuing forth from the House of Justice. Side by side, laughing and panting like boys after a good sports game, St. Just and Blakeney marveled at their daring escape. The former man kept thinking about how close to death he had come; the latter man seemed to think the entire situation rather funny.

"Where is Marguerite?" asked Armand, when he got his breath.

"Safely on her way back to England," replied Percy smilingly. "I told her of my plan to save your neck, and she consented to return to the manor. The old Count de Tournay is working hard on getting that old fox leGourd arrested."

"I have so much to tell Marguerite," Armand murmured. "I understand my dream now. The woman calling to me from over the sea was my mother, in way: it was the voice of broken France, devoid of righteous men. Calling her sons back to her. I will answer the call."

From then on the ride was silent. Soon the adventurers reached Percy's yacht.