Finally feeling relief, almost gratitude even, that the night had ended and their executioners had come, Matteo stood as Éléonore and four soldiers entered the room.

“It seems that your hero is a coward. We have waited through the night to discover that he will save others but not his own friends.” She made a clucking noise with her tongue and looked on them all with mock pity. “That being the situation, we will begin your executions immediately, starting with you.” She grabbed the shirt of the nearest person to her—a young boy standing next to his mother.

His face pinched and he shouted, “What? No!”

The mother pleaded, “No, please! He’s just a child. Surely no enemy to your republic.”

“Well, there you see, evidence right here. My republic, is it? Why not your republic? You are raising the spawn of royal-loving slaves. You all must be purged.” She waved her hand over their group in a nonchalant air. “You might feel honored, really. It is through your very deaths that France can be cleansed and begin a new rule.” She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye and then waved to the guards to start lining people up at the door, the young boy first.

“Wait.” Matteo stepped forward, his jaw firm, his countenance resolute.

“Oh, Matteo, it’s you. Don’t worry, you shall get your chance. We must wait a moment for Robespierre to arrive. He didn’t want to miss your particular execution.”

“I have news of the Pimpernel.”

Pleased, a snakelike smile curled her lips. “Yes?”

“I know who he is. He’s here even now.” Matteo tried to stop the waver in his voice, forced it to sound calm.

Simon gasped. “You must stop this at once. Matteo, this is most assuredly not helping.” His eyes bore into Matteo’s with a strange intensity.

Éléonore’s eyes flicked through the group hungrily. “Who is it? Tell me. Turn yourself in, I tell you, or everyone dies.”

Matteo crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You must free the others. Free the group first, and then I will tell you.”

“Oh no, my old friend. There is no bargaining with me. We begin the deaths immediately. And when you decide to cooperate, we stop.” She held open the door, and the guards began to leave.

“Desist. It is I, Éléonore. I am the one you want. I . . . am the Pimpernel.”

Scarlet stepped toward him and placed her hand on his arm. “No, Matteo. What are you doing?”

He covered her hand with his own but could not look into her face. He knew her eyes would undo him.

Éléonore scoffed. “You? The Pimpernel? Do you think I will believe that?”