“Monseigneur,”—though the voice was hoarse and broken by constant coughing, there were in it the old sweet notes—“I fear to give you pain. Yet I cannot think that you will not understand.”
“I am ready,” said his father, “to do anything you wish—you know that—anything.”
Again Luc braced himself with an obvious effort; his bent shoulders straightened and he held up his head.
“I want—I mean to—go to Paris.”
“To—Paris! You want to leave Aix!”
“Monseigneur, I must.”
“Luc,”—the Marquis also was endeavouring to remain calm,—“why do you wish to leave your home? What do you intend to do in Paris?”
The young man answered swiftly—
“Give myself a chance—a last chance.”
“But you have refused your appointment.”