The Scarlet Pimpernel - Chauvelin
Sir Percy is resplendent in an ivory silk suit - his white-gold wig, his buckles glistening with emeralds - he is every inch the gaudy aristocrat Chauvelin despises. He is everything this revolution was supposed to rid them of. How, then, is this facetious fop allowed to lounge with such malignancy in the salons of Paris? They aren’t five streets from the Place de la Greve. Were the conversation to lull, should Sir Percy’s boisterous laugh mercifully halt momentarily, then the perfunctory roar of the crowd would be heard even here. To calm himself, Chauvelin pictures the ivory silk soaked in crimson.