“Yes, we have that memory in common,” he answered calmly.
“When did you see her last?” asked the Duke.
“She is dead,” said Luc, looking at him.
M. de Richelieu glanced up swiftly. There was a curious sense of stillness in the room. When the Duke spoke, his tone was also low.
“When did she die?”
“In a convent in Aix—nearly a year ago. So you did not know?”
“But I might have guessed that no other reason would have prevented her from coming back.”
“If she had lived, M. de Maréchal, she would never have come back. She died in the habit of a novice.”
“Ah—well, after all, that is what they all do. Did she speak of me?”
“She said, Monsieur, you had done—what they all do.”