The-Scarlet-Pimpernel

threshold.Sir Andrew, however, had stepped unhesitatingly forward.‘English travellers, citoyen!’ he said boldly, and speakingin French.The individual who had come to the door in response toSir Andrew’s knock, and who, presumably, was the ownerof this squalid abode, was an elderly, heavily built peasant,dressed in a dirty blue blouse, heavy sabots, from whichwisps of straw protruded all round, shabby blue trousers,and the inevitable red cap with the tricolour cockade, thatproclaimed his momentary political views. He carried ashort wooden pipe, from which the odour of rank tobaccoemanated. He looked with some suspicion and a great dealof contempt at the two travellers, muttering ‘SACRRRESANGLAIS!’ and spat upon the ground to further show hisindependence of spirit, but, nevertheless, he stood aside tolet them enter, no doubt well aware that these same SAC-CRES ANGLAIS always had well-filled purses.‘Oh, lud!’ said Marguerite, as she advanced into the room,holding her handkerchief to her dainty nose, ‘what a dreadfulhole! Are you sure this is the place?’‘Aye! ‘this the place, sure enough,’ replied the young manas, with his lace-edged, fashionable handkerchief, he dusteda chair for Marguerite to sit on; ‘but I vow I never saw amore villainous hole.’‘Faith!’ she said, looking round with some curiosity anda great deal of horror at the dilapidated walls, the brokenchairs, the rickety table, ‘it certainly does not look invit-236The Scarlet Pimpernel