CHAPTER VI
IN THE GARDEN
Luc stood in the Rue Deauville before a flat, narrow door in the high wall behind which rose the tall poplars of Carola’s garden.
He took the knocker in his hand and looked at it; it was, as the Countess had described, a woman’s head, smoothly cast in bronze, and the face had a reserved yet wild expression, a look of terror and bitterness.
A soft little wind was blowing, and the sun was extraordinarily bright. Luc looked up and down the street with an idle, unexplainable reluctance to knock. He did not care for the rendezvous—he did not even greatly wish to see Carola; he felt to the full the desire that had more or less possessed him of late—the desire to be alone and free—even from those things he loved and admired.
When he at length did knock, the door was opened instantly, and the Countess stood the other side of the portal. He saluted her gravely, and passed into the queer, lonely garden.
They stood for a moment side by side between the trunks of the poplar trees. She wore a light cloak like a man’s riding mantle, and her black hair was unpowdered.
“I am glad you have come, Monsieur le Marquis,” she said.
“I have come wondering why you asked me, Madame,” he answered.
She led the way to the one seat beneath the wallflowers, and when they reached it turned and replied—
“I always liked you, I always wanted to serve you. Ambition is so splendid! You have the makings of a great man.”