“You look strange to-night,” murmured Clémence, as if they had been alone.
“I have come to a resolution, that is all,” he answered quietly. “Nothing so very momentous.” He smiled, and looked from the girl to his father.
“Monseigneur, I have decided to go to Paris.”
The old Marquis put down his book.
“I thought you wished to remain in Aix,” he said, in a low voice.
“I cannot,” replied Luc. “Father, I must go.”
There was a note of almost entreaty in his voice, for his mother had risen and Joseph ceased playing, and he foresaw protest and complaint; Clémence had hung her head; all the old chains tightening about him.
“I must go,” he repeated.
“You have been away so much,” said the Marquise. “Will you not stay at home now, Luc?”
“Madame,” he answered, “I shall return, but I must go, and soon, to Paris.”