“I have come for you, Luc.”
The old Marquis stood erect and proud, handsomely dressed, composed.
“Clémence is waiting for you,” he continued. “She would have accompanied me, but I thought you would rather meet her at home.”
The name hurt and startled Luc. He made an effort to think coherently. He forced his thoughts on to the coming moments.
“Monseigneur,” he asked, “Mademoiselle de Séguy—knows?”
“Knows what?” demanded the Marquis in a still voice.
Luc’s dim eyes filled with tenderness. He answered very gently—
“Knows that she is free, my father.”
The old man gallantly kept his pose, his calm.
“You must not speak like that, Luc. Mademoiselle de Séguy loves you—nothing makes any difference to her. She is eager——”