Sir Percy Blakeney, baronet, strode into the sanctuary, humming slightly, brushing dust from off his clothes. The agent’s jaw had dropped, and he was frightened out of his wits, squeaking incoherently.

“But…but…you’re su-supposed to be-e-”

“Do articulate, man!” scolded Blakeney. “Yes, I am supposed to be what?”

“Dead!” He spat it from his mouth as though it left a bitter taste.

Percy seemed surprised by this news. “Am I really?” He gave himself a good once over, and stated confidently “Well, you can see I’m not.”

Marguerite, still huddled against the wall, wasn’t daring to breath. Andrew was laughing triumphantly, Basil was grinning from ear to ear, and Armand was blinking, joyously surprised and confused.

“Seize him!” he ordered of the soldiers, pointing resolutely at him. The troops advanced, and Marguerite was screaming “Percy, fly!” He remained, nonchalant, before stepping away from the door. And from that door poured the very soldiers that had taken him out to be killed. Before Chauvelin’s could offer a word of protest, the other’s had them held at gun point, scowling.

Chauvelin was absolutely flabbergasted. He snarled “You traitors! I’ll see you all killed for this!”

“Hardly, Chauvelin!” Percy laughed. “No, you see, these soldiers are from the dragoon you sent up on ahead with Armand. Well, at least, that’s what you thought. But, you see, what really happened, was my men ambushed them on the road. Your soldiers are fifty miles back, tied up in a little shed. Now, these upstanding citizens of the Republic that you had take me out to kill me would never shoot their own leader.”

Every word of it was true. The soldiers removed hats and rubbed off makeup, laughing to reveal themselves as members of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Chauvelin’s men dropped their weapons as they backed them up into the alcove, and locked them in there.

“Let’s see, shall we start with the introductions?” began Percy. “There’s Lord Antony Dewhurst. He’s Lord Edward Hastings, he’s-” He stopped, a bemused expression on his face. “Well, I suppose I’m ruining the surprise, aren’t I?”

Chauvelin was glaring contemptuously, now entirely out numbered. “Very good, Sir Percy. But you forgot one thing: My assistant, Andre Madeline, is waiting in the town. It is nearly seven o’clock, and that is when I told him to return if I had not sent him further orders.”

Percy mused on this for a moment before pointing to the window. “How true. But just off shore, you will see my own ship, the Day Dream, ready to take my men, Mr. Basil, my wife, and myself back to England.” Percy puffed up with pride, mocking his adversary. “Isn’t she just the grandest thing you ever saw? Perfect down to every nail and every board. I designed her myself, you know. You see, her rudder-”

“I don’t care about her rudder,” Chauvelin was growling between gritted teeth.

Blakeney looked hurt. “Well, we’ll discuss her some other time, when you’re in a more courteous mood. Now, let’s see, Tony, you untie the others, Edward, lock Citizen Chauvelin in as remote a place as possible.”

“With pleasure!” cried the brown mouse, quickly sticking the muzzle of his rifle into the ambassador’s back, right in between the shoulder blades. Still glaring, Chauvelin was herded into the rectory, and promptly locked inside.

“So sorry, Chauvelin!” Percy called again. “Don’t worry! Citizen Madeline will be along shortly to let you out. We’d love to stay, but you see, I have pressing business back in England. Ta ta!”

He and his men burst out laughing, Basil rubbing at his soar wrists, which had some rope burns on them.

“I’m terribly sorry about all that, Mr. Basil,” Percy apologized. “I would have warned you, but you see, I ran out of time. Now, the offer still stands, if you’d care to make our little band twenty one, instead of twenty.”

“It is an honor I would sooner forego, Sir Percy, but I thank you. There are clients back in England who need my help also.”

“Ah, yes! That’s right! Now, how much do I owe you for helping my dear little Margot in rescuing her brother and in finding the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel?”

Basil yawned, too tired to think about it. “Later. I’ll send you a bill. But, at the moment, I believe your wife does not quite believe you’re not a ghost.”

True enough. Marguerite had not moved from the spot that Chauvelin had set her in. Percy turned to face her, smiling. In fact, he was practically glowing at the sight of her. Slowly, she stood up, still hardly believing it was really him.

“Hello, Marguerite.”

With a cry, she launched herself at him, jumping into his arms, as he held her protectively. “Oh, Percy, Percy! It’s you! Oh, you’re alive!”

He was laughing as she covered his face with kisses, in ecstasies. “I tried to tell you the truth so many times. Oh, Margot, can you ever forgive me? Can you forgive me for not listening to you? For thinking you were a spy, and thinking you were slinking around with that rat behind my back?”

“Only if you can forgive me for not seeing past the mask you wore, forgive me for hating you. For thinking you had a mistress, that you no longer loved me!”

“Yes!”

“And yes!”

Basil respectfully turned his back on the sweet reunion, and decided it better to strike up a conversation with Marguerite’s brother.

“So, you’re Monsieur Armand? A pleasure.”

Marguerite and Percy were blind to anyone else’s existence. They cried, they laughed, they kissed. And oh, such kisses! It was the first time in months that Percy had had the glorious privilege of kissing the woman he worshiped. It was the first time in months that Marguerite had been kissed, and had wanted that kiss.

The trip back home was a smooth one. Marguerite spent joy filled hours flittering from her brother’s age old protecting embrace to her husband’s. Andrew and Tony had Basil laughing at fabulous stories of Percy’s many disguises.

It will be noted that five months later Sir Andrew Ffoulkes finally married Suzanne de Tournay, which was precisely what everyone had wanted in the first place. It will also be noted that Citizen Chauvelin sent for his daughter to return to France mere days after his misadventure in Calais, and he quietly resigned from the role of Ambassador to England. It will also be noted that the Scarlet Pimpernel took many more trips to France, to Marguerite’s despair, and that each trip sent him closer to being caught by Citizen Chauvelin, and kissed by Madame Guillotine. But that didn’t matter. The only woman that Percy would ever kiss again, and he would ever allow to kiss him, was his wife. It will lastly be noted that the rest of the Blakeney’s marriage was spent in bliss, though Marguerite was constantly terrified for him. They grew old together, and remained faithful and happy for the rest of their days. All of fashionable London society was surprised by the sudden change in the pair towards each other. Marguerite did not send him hateful looks, Percy did not regard her coldly. They glowed in the presence of each other, and anyone who had hoped that their marriage would fall apart, leaving prominent young bucks to try and woo Lady Blakeney, were sorely disappointed.