The Scarlet PimpernelBook - 1992
First published in 1905, The Scarlet Pimpernel is an irresistible novel of love, gallantry, and swashbuckling adventure.
From Library Staff
BostonPL_JordanD Sep 06, 2017
This is the story of Sir Percy Blakeney, a chivalrous Englishman married to the beautiful French actress, Marguerite St. Just, with whom he pretends to be a slow-witted dandy, a ruse to hide his true identity as the Scarlet Pimpernel, who with his secret society of English aristocrats, rescue Fre... Read More »
BeccaBB Mar 06, 2013
I am a fan of the masked hero type. Zorro and Batman and the like. So you might want to take what I say with a grain of salt because I think I was predisposed to like this novel. And I did like it. There are less of the heroic adventures of the Scarlet Pimpernel here than you may expect. You... Read More »
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"Zooks!" ejaculated Sir Andrew in boundless astonishment as he recognized his leader, "of all the…"
The young man had seen Marguerite, and happily checked the forcible language that rose to his lips, at the sight of the exquisite Sir Percy in his weird and dirty garb.
- Page 209
"They seek him here, they seek him there
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere
Is he in heaven or is he in hell?
That damned elusive Pimpernel." - Baroness Orczy
Before entering, she paused once again to look at him, hoping against hope to see his arms stretched out to her, and to hear his voice calling her back. But he had not moved; his massive figure looked the very personification of unbending pride [...] Hot tears again surged to her eyes[.] She turned quickly within, and ran as fast as she could up to her rooms. Had she but turned back then, and looked out once more [...] she would have seen [...] a strong man, overwhelmed with his own passion and his own despair. He was but a man madly, blindly, passionately in love, and as soon as her light footsteps had died away within the house, he knelt down upon the terrace steps, and in the very madness of his love he kissed one by one the places where her small foot had trodden, and the stone balustrade there, where her tiny hand had rested last.
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