Luc looked at her and at nothing else. The presence of M. de Richelieu was no longer anything to him; he was waiting for the explanation of this mystery,—Carola Koklinska,—an explanation that had seemed on the point of being revealed in the garden. What was she?—did she or did she not fulfil his ideal of the spiritual power of perfect woman?—did he love her as he knew he was capable of loving? He stood against the closed shutter with his grave hazel eyes on her face. She was colourless save for the false blush on her cheeks: he disliked that artificial glow, and thought of her as she was among the Bohemian snows, haggard and disfigured, yet more pleasing to him then than now.
M. de Richelieu glanced from one to the other with an eye of hawk-like brightness.
“Do you wish me to speak?” he asked Carola, and cast his hat on to a little tulip-wood table.
She bent her head, and the Duke turned with a quiet magnificence of manner to Luc.
“Monsieur le Marquis, may I have—for a little—your attention?”
With an effort Luc took his eyes from Carola; he was not concerned with what M. de Richelieu had to say.
In an even voice, with the air of one who courteously, but without conviction, discharges a duty, the Duke began speaking. He related, from the inside, politics that Luc knew already from the outside; he gave details of the present state of affairs between the Courts of France, Austria, England, and Prussia; he indicated the web of intrigues that was continually being spun beyond the scrutiny of the public eye. Luc listened without interest; he had already guessed that M. de Richelieu intended, through the influence of the Countess, to offer him some adventurous chance in politics, and he had already resolved to refuse—he began, in fact, to understand.
Even while the Duke was speaking, Luc’s mind was still busy with the problem of Carola. Once or twice he allowed his glance to rest on her: she was seated with her pallid face supported between her long ringless hands; her cloak had fallen apart, and a crystal heart that hung round her neck by a thin silver chain swung and twinkled above her knees.
M. de Richelieu proceeded to unfold a plan for the confusion of Maria Theresa. A young man had been prepared and instructed for the principal rôle in this intrigue, but unfortunately had lost his life in a duel; and Madame la Comtesse having declared she knew of some one to take his place—— The Duke paused.
“What is the task you wish me to undertake, Monsieur?” asked Luc, without raising his head; while the Duke was speaking, a great many things had become slowly plain.