De Batz' good-humoured laugh helped her to hide this unwonted access of confusion.
"That was well turned, friend Armand," he said lightly; "but I assure you, mademoiselle, that before I brought him here to-night his ideal was a man." "A man!" she exclaimed, with a contemptuous little pout.

"Who was it ?" "I know no other name for him but that of a small, insignificant flower--the Scarlet Pimpernel," replied de Batz.
"The Scarlet Pimpernel!" she ejaculated, dropping the flowers suddenly, and gazing on Armand with wide, wondering eyes.

"And do you know him, monsieur ?" He was frowning despite himself, despite the delight which he felt at sitting so close to this charming little lady, and feeling that in a measure his presence and his personality interested her.

But he felt irritated with de Batz, and angered at what he considered the latter's indiscretion.

To him the very name of his leader was almost a sacred one; he was one of those enthusiastic devotees who only care to name the idol of their dreams with bated breath, and only in the ears of those who would understand and sympathise.
Again he felt that if only he could have been alone with mademoiselle he could have told her all about the Scarlet Pimpernel, knowing that in her he would find a ready listener, a helping and a loving heart; but as it was he merely replied tamely enough: "Yes, mademoiselle, I do know him." "You have seen him ?" she queried eagerly; "spoken to him ?" "Yes." "Oh! do tell me all about him.