The Marquis followed him into the next room, and the beauty of the little apartment was such as he had never seen; it steeped his soul in sudden pleasurable languor. The page disappeared, and Luc looked about him eagerly. The walls were of pale ash-wood, smooth and watered like satin; the carpet was of the same hue, but scattered with a design of dull pink roses; the chairs were gilt and violet velvet; and the window was hung with curtains of pale mauve and pink heavily fringed with gold, and looped so as to show the ivory satin lining. One entire side of the wall was covered by an exquisite piece of tapestry in a hundred melting hues, showing the legend of Europa and the Bull; on the pale carved wood mantelpiece stood a clock and candlesticks of rock crystal and enamel, and a fine china bowl of lilacs, camellias, tuberoses, and white syringa. The whole was faintly lit by a silver and crystal lamp that hung by slender chains from the ceiling, which was covered by drawn grey silk. A cabinet of beautiful workmanship inlaid with painted china plaques, a desk of marquetry and ormolu covered with rich articles, and an exquisite lute of ivory and ebony tied with jade green ribbons completed the furniture. In one corner a white, violet, and gold brocade curtain was half drawn away from a low couch that stood in an alcove; as Luc glanced at this he saw with a start that a man was lying there, asleep or dozing, with his head turned towards the wall. He wore a soft blue satin dressing-gown and a cravat of flimsy lace that hung in a cloud to the ground; his hair, which was curling and unpowdered, flowed over his bosom and shoulders; his breeches, waistcoat, and stockings were white; his feet thrust into gold slippers. His whole figure was considerably in shadow, but by his even breathing he was certainly asleep. Luc was first amused and then vexed; he made no doubt that this was the Governor. “M. de Richelieu,” he said, in a firm voice. “Your Highness----” The sleeper stirred lightly, raised his head, and sat up. Luc was looking at the “Monsieur Armand” of last night’s sordid happenings. CHAPTER XII THE DIAMOND RING Despite the different light, surroundings, and dress, the recognition was instantaneous on each side. For a breathless instant the two men gazed at each other. M. de Richelieu was the first to speak. “So you are M. de Vauvenargues!” he said, and put his gold-slippered feet to the ground and threw his head back with a cold haughtiness. “I am M. de Vauvenargues,” answered Luc. “You were introduced unceremoniously,” returned the Duke. “I did not expect you so soon. Be seated, Monsieur le Marquis.” Luc took one of the delicate chairs and fixed his eyes on the pale carpet; he was conscious of a wretched feeling of disappointment, of disgust, of a sense of personal failure.