“Do you imagine that you will better yourself by taking this story to Versailles? You think you can ruin me, perhaps----” “Monsieur!” cried Luc, raising his head. M. de Richelieu was on his feet, a glittering, winning figure, difficult to associate with the miserable scene in the barn. “Well, if you think, Monsieur,” he said quietly, “that you would gain a hearing against me, remember I am Armand du Plessis,” and Luc realized suddenly what a great man, what a notable person he was defying. He thought of his future career, and his heart sank; what could he hope to achieve commencing with such a powerful enemy? Something of this thought showed in his sensitive face, and the Governor was quick to perceive and follow up his advantage. “I have used _lettres de cachet_ on less occasion,” he said gently. Luc turned so as to face him. “Scarcely on men of my position, M. de Richelieu,” he answered haughtily. “I am not of the bourgeois, to be threatened.” He was stung now out of his shyness and reserve; he faced the Governor as an equal and unabashed. “As to last night, my own wish is to forget it,” he said sternly. “I shall not speak for the sake of speaking--you know that. I should not be silent for any threat’s sake if honour bade me speak--you know that also, Monseigneur.” M. de Richelieu was clearly puzzled; if at the same time vexed, or alarmed, he did not show it. His face expressed wonder and even amusement. “It was only a jest last night,” he said lightly, “a common amusement.” “It cost a man his life,” answered Luc wearily. “But I pray your Highness not to speak of it.” “Well,” returned the Duke, with utter callousness, “he was a knave, and deserved it. He was cheating, and I had him brought from Venice on purpose.” Luc did not answer; he felt tired, disappointed, and downcast. His one desire was to get away from this house and from Avignon. “I can make yesterday’s meeting fortunate for both of us,” continued the Duke. “I liked you from the first. I require another secretary----” “I must refuse,” interrupted Luc. “I will take nothing, Monseigneur.” M. de Richelieu looked at him narrowly. “Where have you lived all your life?” he asked abruptly. “In Aix and in camp,” replied Luc. His dreamy eyes brightened. “I have been ten years with the army.” “Why did you leave?” “Because my health broke,” said Luc briefly. “There were not many of us, Monsieur, who survived the retreat from Prague.” “And now you wish to become a politician,” said M. de Richelieu. “I suppose you are an idealist?” Luc smiled to think of the utter hopelessness of endeavouring to express his aspirations to this man. “I have ideas,” he answered simply. “I think I could succeed in statecraft.” “Tell me some of your ideas--tell me something of what you would do were you in power.”