“This is my Vauvenargues,” he smiled.
Louis paused, looked back, and, seeing the young man, smiled also.
Luc, grave, alert, serenely glad of his appointment as secretary to the embassy to Madrid which had just been conferred on him by M. Amelot, came on along the gallery, unconscious of the two gentlemen half concealed by the heavy folds of the great velvet curtain until he was just upon them. Then he raised his eyes, to see M. de Richelieu regarding him closely and the tall gentleman with the beautiful face, whose wonderful deep blue eyes were now lit by a kind of amusement. Luc was irresistibly attracted to this face with the loose curls dishevelled round the short, fine features, which he now saw for the first time in broad daylight.
M. de Richelieu realized in an instant that Luc did not know the King.
“I congratulate you on your appointment, M. le Marquis,” he said.
Luc uncovered; a flush rose to his brow as a sudden thought stung him.
“Do I owe this appointment to your influence, Maréchal?” he asked.
“No, Monsieur,” replied M. de Richelieu, smiling broadly; “to this gentleman’s.”
Louis’ blue eyes flickered over the slim, erect figure of the young noble. He remembered perfectly well his last meeting and all that Luc had said. He was essentially good-humoured, and the present situation diverted him.
“Monseigneur,” said the Marquis with dignity, “I have the honour of your acquaintance, not of your name.”