“It is as she would wish,” I answered, gently. “Come, we must not remain here.”
I led him to the low wall, which we climbed a second time, along the avenue of chestnuts and to the street beyond. The carriage was awaiting us. I called the driver.
“You will return to the Hotel de Richelieu,” I said, and entered after the duke.
The way seemed interminably long, nor did I venture to offer any further sympathy to the stricken man in the other corner. My own heart was sore enough, not only with his sorrow but with my own.
Jacques met us at the steps. One glance at his master’s face told him the story.
“You will drive to the stables,” he said to the coachman. “I will soon join you there,” and he followed us within and shut the door.
Richelieu paused a moment on the stairs.
“I will go to my room, de Brancas,” he said, in a weary voice. “I wish to be alone, my friend,” and he went on up the stairs. I watched him until he disappeared from sight, and then turned into a room on the lower floor.
“Send him up a bottle of wine, Jacques,” I said. “He needs it now as he never did before in his life.”
“He has lost, then, M. de Brancas?”