the　wake　of　over…fatigue。
  The　soldiers　were　always　well　rested　and　well　fed；　and　though　the
  delay　caused　by　long　and　frequent　halts　must　have　been　just　as
  irksome　to　him　as　it　was　to　Heron；　yet　he　bore　it　imperturbably；
  for　he　would　have　had　no　use　on　this　momentous　journey　for　a
  handful　of　men　whose　enthusiasm　and　spirit　had　been　blown　away　by
  the　roughness　of　the　gale；　or　drowned　in　the　fury　of　the　constant
  downpour　of　rain。
  Of　all　this　Marguerite　had　been　conscious　in　a　vague；　dreamy　kind
  of　way。　　She　seemed　to　herself　like　the　spectator　in　a　moving
  panoramic　drama；　unable　to　raise　a　finger　or　to　do　aught　to　stop
  that　final；　inevitable　ending；　the　cataclysm　of　sorrow　and　misery
  that　awaited　her；　when　the　dreary　curtain　would　fall　on　the　last
  act；　and　she　and　all　the　other　spectatorsArmand；　Chauvelin；
  Heron；　the　Soldierswould　slowly　wend　their　way　home；　leaving　the
  principal　actor　behind　the　fallen　curtain；　which　never　would　be
  lifted　again。
  After　that　first　halt　in　the　guard…room　of　the　Rue　Ste。　Anne　she
  had　been　bidden　to　enter　a　second　hackney　coach；　which；　followed
  the　other　at　a　distance　of　fifty　metres　or　so；　and　was；　like　that
  other；　closely　surrounded　by　a　squad　of　mounted　men。
  Armand　and　Chauvelin　rode　in　this　carriage　with　her；　all　day　she
  sat　looking　out　on　the　endless　monotony　of　the　road；　on　the　drops
  of　rain　that　pattered　against　the　window…glass；　and　ran　down　from
  it　like　a　perpetual　stream　of　tears。
  There　were　two　halts　called　during　the　dayone　for　dinner　and　one
  midway　through　the　afternoonwhen　she　and　Armand　would　step　out
  of　the　coach　and　be　ledalways　with　soldiers　close　around
  themto　some　wayside　inn；　where　some　sort　of　a　meal　was　served；
  where　the　atmosphere　was　close　and　stuffy　and　smelt　of　onion　soup
  and　of　stale　cheese。
  Armand　and　Marguerite　would　in　most　cases　have　a　room　to
  themselves；　with　sentinels　posted　outside　the　door；　and　they　would
  try　and　eat　enough　to　keep　body　and　soul　together；　for　they　would
  not　allow　their　strength　to　fall　away　before　the　end　of　the
  journey　was　reached。
  For　the　night　haltonce　at　Beauvais　and　the　second　night　at
  Abbevillethey　were　escorted　to　a　house　in　the　interior　of　the
  city；　where　they　were　accommodated　with　moderately　clean　lodgings。
  Sentinels；　however；　were　always　at　their　doors；　they　were
  prisoners　in　all　but　name；　and　had　little　or　no　privacy；　for　at
  night　they　were　both　so　tired　that　they　were　glad　to　retire
  immediately；　and　to　lie　down　on　the　hard　beds　that　had　been
  provided　for　them；　even　if　sleep　fled　from　their　eyes；　and　their
  hearts　and　souls　were　flying　through　the　city　in　search　of　him　who
  filled　their　every　thought。
  Of　Percy　they　saw　little　or　nothing。　　In　the　daytime　food　was
  evidently　brought　to　him　in　the　carriage；　for　they　did　not　see　him
  get　down；　and　on　those　two　nights　at　Beauvais　and　Abbeville；　when
  they　caught　sight　of　him　stepping　out　of　the　coach　outside　the
  gates　of　the　barracks；　he　was　so　surrounded　by　soldiers　that　they
  only　saw　the　top　of　his　head　and　his　broad　shoulders　towering
  above　those　of　the　men。
  Once　Marguerite　had　put　all　her　pride；　all　her　dignity　by；　and
  asked　citizen　Chauvelin　for　news　of　her　husband。
  〃He　is　well　and　cheerful；　Lady　Blakeney；〃　he　had　replied　with　his
  sarcastic　smile。　　〃Ah！〃　he　added　pleasantly；　〃those　English　are
  remarkable　people。　　We；　of　Gallic　breed；　will　never　really
  understand　them。　　Their　fatalism　is　quite　Oriental　in　its　quiet
  resignation　to　the　decree　of　Fate。　　Did　you　know；　Lady　Blakeney；
  that　when　Sir　Percy　was　arrested　he　did　not　raise　a　hand。　　I
  thought；　and　so　did　my　colleague；　that　he　would　have　fought　like　a
  lion。　And　now；　that　he　has　no　doubt　realised　that　quiet　submission
  will　serve　him　best　in　the　end；　he　is　as　calm　on　this　journey　as　I
  am　myself。　　In　fact；〃　he　concluded　complacently；　〃whenever　I　have
  succeeded　in　peeping　into　the　coach　I　have　invariably　found　Sir
  Percy　Blakeney　fast　asleep。〃
  He〃　she　murmured；　for　it　was　so　difficult　to　speak　to　this
  callous　wretch；　who　was　obviously　mocking　her　in　her　misery
  〃heyouyou　are　not　keeping　him　in　irons？〃
  〃No！　　Oh　no！〃　replied　Chauvelin　with　perfect　urbanity。　〃You　see；
  now　that　we　have　you；　Lady　Blakeney；　and　citizen　St。　Just　with　us
  we　have　no　reason　to　fear　that　that　elusive　Pimpernel　will　spirit
  himself　away。〃
  A　hot　retort　had　risen　to　Armand's　lips。　　The　warm　Latin　blood　in
  him　rebelled　against　this　intolerable　situation；　the　man's　sneers
  in　the　face　of　Marguerite's　anguish。　　But　her　restraining；　gentle
  hand　had　already　pressed　his。　　What　was　the　use　of　protesting；　of
  insulting　this　brute；　who　cared　nothing　for　the　misery　which　he
  had　caused　so　long　as　he　gained　his　own　ends？
  And　Armand　held　his　tongue　and　tried　to　curb　his　temper；　tried　to
  cultivate　a　little　of　that　fatalism　which　Chauvelin　had　said　was
  characteristic　of　the　English。　　He　sat　beside　his　sister；　longing
  to　comfort　her；　yet　feeling　that　his　very　presence　near　her　was　an
  outrage　and　a　sacrilege。　She　spoke　so　seldom　to　him；　even　when
  they　were　alone；　that　at　times　the　awful　thought　which　had　more
  than　once　found　birth　in　his　weary　brain　became　crystallised　and
  more　real。　　Did　Marguerite　guess？　　Had　she　the　slightest　suspicion
  that　the　awful　cataclysm　to　which　they　were　tending　with　every
  revolution　of　the　creaking　coach…wheels　had　been　brought　about　by
  her　brother's　treacherous　hand？
  And　when　that　thought　had　lodged　itself　quite　snugly　in　his　mind
  he　began　to　wonder　whether　it　would　not　be　far　more　simple；　far
  more　easy；　to　end　his　miserable　life　in　some　manner　that　might
  suggest　itself　on　the　way。　When　the　coach　crossed　one　of　those
  dilapidated；　parapetless　bridges；　over　abysses　fifty　metres　deep；
  it　might　be　so　easy　to　throw　open　the　carriage　door　and　to　take
  one　final　jump　into　eternity。
  So　easybut　so　damnably　cowardly。
  Marguerite's　near　presence　quickly　brought　him　back　to　himself。
  His　life　was　no　longer　his　own　to　do　with　as　he　pleased；　it
  belonged　to　the　chief　whom　he　had　betrayed；　to　the　sister　whom　he
  must　endeavour　to　protect。
  Of　Jeanne　now　he　thought　but　little。　　He　had　put　even　the　memory
  of　her　bytenderly；　like　a　sprig　of　lavender　pressed　between　the
  faded　leaves　of　his　own　happiness。　　His　hand　was　no　longer　fit　to
  hold　that　of　any　pure　womanhis　hand　had　on　it　a　deep　stain；
  immutable；　like　the　brand　of　Cain。
  Yet　Marguerite　beside　him　held　his　hand　and　together　they　looked
  out　on　that　dreary；　dreary　road　and　listened　to　of　the　patter　of
  the　rain　and　the　rumbling　of　the　wheels　of　that　other　coach　on
  aheadand　it　was　all　so　dismal　and　so　horrible；　the　rain；　the
  soughing　of　the　wind　in　the　stunted　trees；　this　landscape　of　mud
  and　desolation；　this　eternally　grey　sky。
  CHAPTER　XLIV
  THE　HALT　AT　CRECY
  〃Now；　then；　citizen；　don't　go　to　sleep；　this　is　Crecy；　our　last
  halt！〃
  Armand　woke　up　from　his　last　dream。　　They　had　been　moving　steadily
  on　since　they　left　Abbeville　soon　after　dawn；　the　rumble　of　the
  wheels；　the　swaying　and　rocking　of　the　carriage；　the　interminable
  patter　of　the　rain　had　lulled　him　into　a　kind　of　wakeful　sleep。
  Chauvelin　had　already　alighted　from　the　coach。　　He　was　helping
  Marguerite　to　descend。　　Armand　shook　the　stiffness　from　his　limbs
  and　followed　in　the　wake　of　his　sister。　　Always　those　miserable
  soldiers　round　them；　with　their　dank　coats　of　rough　blue　cloth；
  and　the　red　caps　on　their　heads！　　Armand　pulled　Marguerite's　hand
  through　his　arm；　and　dragged　her　with　him　into　the　house。
  The　small　city　lay　damp　and　grey　before　them；　the　rough　pavement
  of　the　narrow　street　glistened　with　the　wet；　reflecting　the　dull；
  leaden　sky　overhead；　the　rain　beat　into　the　puddles；　the
  slate…roofs　shone　in　the　cold　wintry　light。
  This　was　Crecy！　　The　last　halt　of　the　journey；　so　Chauvelin　had
  said。　　The　party　had　drawn　rein　in　front　of　a　small　one…storied
  building　that　had　a　wooden　verandah　running　the　whole　length　of
  its　front。
  The　usual　low　narrow　room　greeted　Armand　and　Marguerite　as　they
  entered；　the　usual　mildewed　walls；　with　the　colour　wash　flowing
  away　in　streaks　from　the　unsympathetic　beam　above；　the　same
  device；　〃Liberte；　Egalite；　Fraternite！〃　scribbled　in　charcoal
  above　the　black　iron　stove；　the　usual　musty；　close　atmosphere；　the
  usual　smell　of　onion　and　stale　cheese；　the　usual　hard　straight
  benches　and　central　table　with　its　soiled　and　tattered　cloth。
  Marguerite　seemed　dazed　and　giddy；　she　had　been　five　hours　in　that
  stuffy　coach　with　nothing　to　distract　her　thoughts　except　the
  rain…sodden　landscape；　on　which　she　had　ceaselessly　gazed　since
  the　early　dawn。
  Armand　led　her　to　the　bench；　and　she　sank　down　on　it；　numb　and
  inert；　resting　her　elbows　on　the　table　and　her　head　in　her　hands。
  〃If　it　were　only　all　over！〃　she　sighed　involuntarily。　Armand；　at
  times　now　I　feel　as　if　I　were　not　really　saneas　if　my　reason　had
  already　given　way！　　Tell　me；　do　I　seem　mad　to　you　at　times？〃
  He　sat　down　beside　her　and　tried　to　chafe　her　little　cold　hands。
  There　was　a　knock　at　the　door；　and　without　waiting　for　permission
  Chauvelin　entered　the　room。
  〃My　humble　apologies　to　you；　Lady　Blakeney；〃　he　said　in　his　usual
  suave　manner；　〃but　our　worthy　host　informs　me　that　this　is　the
  only　room