When he was on the threshold of the street door another page breathlessly overtook him.
“Monseigneur, you left your glove,” he said.
Luc took the riding gauntlet, and felt something heavy in the palm. The colour throbbed in his face; he shook out on to his hand a diamond ring of exceptional beauty and remarkably set with sapphires.
“Yes, it is my glove,” he said to the page, who was hurrying away, “but take this back to M. de Richelieu—it is a mistake.” He held out the ring.
“Monseigneur said the jewel was yours,” returned the page.
“Well, then,” replied M. de Vauvenargues proudly, “take it as your guerdon for bringing me the glove.”
He flung it on the carpet at the boy’s feet and left the Governor’s house.
CHAPTER XIII
THREE LETTERS
Luc was back at Aix in the peace, the confinement, the even atmosphere of his own home.
He told his father that M. de Richelieu had not been able to do anything for him, and the old Marquis advised him to give up all thoughts of any further career and settle down in Aix.