Chauvelin watched Margot leave, his heart troubled by her words. How could the beautiful firebrand who thrived on such high ideals be reduced to this? It irked him to see the queen of the intellectual plane reduced to a vapid noblewoman who voiced treasonous thoughts. He left some money on the table, and strode off to a carriage. In Paris, he would have walked, he enjoyed a stroll, it gave him time to think but in this Aristo infested city, he felt ill at ease. He had a few prerogatives, he measured them mentally. Keep England out of France's business, catch the Pimpernel and now deal with Margot. He hoped he could save her from herself, he hoped that it was a mask she wore and she'd go home with him. But he could not return her like the way she was now, she'd be fodder for the Guillotine. An idea came to him. He had to catch this Pimpernel, if Margot would help, she'd be welcomed back with honors. A smile rose to his slim lips. A wonderful plan, so many uses. When he arrived at the embassy, he brushed past his assistants after asking his personal secretary if anything vital needed his attention. He strode off behind the offices to his humble apartments. When he reached the door, his rigid posture changed to a more human appearance, he looked softer and more kindly. Inside the room was the woman who meant more to him then Margot, his beautiful daughter, his little flower, Fluerette. He remembered her lovely mother, Josephine. It was love at first sight, a whirlwind courtship, a happy two years of wedded bliss in a small country house, and then it all crashing down with Josephine's death in childbirth and a weeping father left with a baby. He had hired a nurse for her and buried himself in work, visiting her as often as he could. He adored her, she was the one light in his life, he tried to keep her from all that was bad in the world. Now that the first nursemaid had taken ill, she had been taken here, to live with him. He knocked on the door, using the old greeting he would say whenever he had come for a visit. "I come for the prettiest flower in the world, is she here?" he called in as he opened the door to the girl's room.

When he walked in, he was greeted by shouts of "Bibi! Bibi! Bibi!". Chauvelin smiled broadly as his daughter wrapped her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet. The change in him was astonishing, he looked years younger and his face shown with light and pride. She was getting so strong, well of course, look her father is! Bibi, the name she had given him, the name he loved more then any other name, a secret name that was used in a safe little cocoon of his own making, a cocoon ruled by his little flower. She was one of the things that made him feel like he was more then just a machine for justice. He would do anything for her, anything! He knelt down so that he was level with her. "I missed you too, Fleurette. My, every time I see you, you grow more and more beautiful. Let's see this favorite book of yours, fairy tales" he said, happy she was here. Having her around, as long as she was kept innocent of his work was sublime, she was a fountain of youth in presence, she nourished his weary soul. He tried to do all for her but she needed a mother. If Margot would marry him and help him raise his darling daughter (maybe give him a sister or brother for Fleurette), if that Pimpernel would die, if the revolution became a happy prosperous republic, life would be perfect. He picked up his daughter in his arms. "Do you like London?" he asked.