Luc looked into her clear, ardent brown eyes, that were fixed on him with an eager and intense expression. A wave of faintness came over him; he felt impelled to catch at the long embroidered window strap that hung over the side of the coach door to prevent himself from falling. He could make no answer.
“This is my message,” said the Countess, rather hurriedly and in a lowered voice: “I want you to come to my garden to-morrow about four o’clock. Knock at the door in the Rue Deauville—you remember that it is the street that runs at the end of the garden. You will know the door, for the knocker is shaped like a woman’s head.”
Luc caught his breath; he was still feeling dizzy. His look was a question as to what she meant.
“Do you care to come?” she said. “It is a question of politics.”
“I am very honoured,” he answered formally.
“You can be of use to me,” remarked the Countess. “I shall be grateful if you will come—but perhaps you are not leaving Versailles so soon?”
“Yes,” he replied, “I was leaving immediately. Of course I will come, Madame.”
She sighed and leant back in her coach.
“Very well, Monsieur, the Rue Deauville.”
Luc bowed, and the sumptuous coach rolled noisily down the narrow cobbled street.