Luc sent the servant back with his answering thanks for the appointment, and went upstairs to unpack his finest suit; it was plain enough, and the work of a country tailor, but Luc attired himself gravely, with no thought for the fashion, and went out to find a barber to powder and dress his hair. When this was done, it was already dusk. He could scarcely eat any dinner, and reluctantly admitted to himself that he was nervous. His natural reserve made him shrink from waiting on the great, and inherited pride made him shrink from asking a favour; neither had his long soldier’s training fitted him for dealing with a courtier like M. de Richelieu. He felt he would be at a disadvantage with such a man, and the old powerful longing for the army, for the career on which he had set his heart, and to which he had devoted his best energies and earliest youth, assailed him; but he angrily controlled this weakness, and broke his thoughts by opening a little volume of Pascal he always carried in his pocket. At the appointed time he rode up to the Governor’s residence and gave his name. He was at once ushered into a great painted antechamber with a domed ceiling and white walls covered with a confusion of cupids, wreaths of flowers, tambourines, flutes, masks, and garlands all very elegantly drawn and coloured. In each panel of the wall hung an oval mirror which had above it a gilt sconce of perfumed wax candles; the chairs were of delicate ash-wood and Aubusson tapestry. On a low green marble-topped table by one of the windows was a portfolio of prints and a book bound in calf; the name of the author caught Luc’s eye--it was M. de Voltaire. Luc was not insensible to the charm and elegance of the apartment; he was keenly sensitive to all beauty. The taste that he had never been able to cultivate was accurate; he knew that paintings, furniture, and every detail of the chamber were the most exquisite possible, and his spirit expanded in the atmosphere; he did not even notice that he was being kept waiting longer than was courteous. Turning presently, thinking that he heard some one approach, Luc caught sight of himself nearly full length in one of the oval mirrors. He saw a slight, pale young man, with a serene and delicate face, thoughtful hazel eyes, and a clear complexion, precise grey curls, and a plain suit of violet cloth trimmed with silver, a rich lace cravat tied very carefully, a simple sword, and a black ribbon round his throat. The strange surroundings made his own person appear strange; he looked at himself as he might have looked at a mere acquaintance, critically, yet almost disinterestedly. He was still searching his own face when the folding-doors at the end of the room opened, and a black page wearing a scarlet tunic and turban silently motioned him to advance.