Carola went ahead with M. de Richelieu; he, as if disdainful of being overheard, said in a voice hardly lowered-- “You have chosen the wrong man, Madame; but if you wish to go on with the comedy, I shall not interfere.” Carola’s reply was such a mere murmur that Luc did not hear; nor did he care what she said. He was content to leave this doubtful adventure in her hands--whichever way it ended, he would come to some issue with her before he left. They entered upon a long wide corridor, the heavy candelabra and gilt-legged furniture covered with linen on which the dust lay thickly; the floor was of black and white squares of marble, the windows were shuttered, the air struck musty and yet chill. Carola opened a high door half-way down this corridor, and the two men followed her into an ornately furnished room, where the sun streamed in a melancholy fashion over silk screens, silk-hung walls, carved chairs, and Eastern rugs. The room had an air of having been long deserted or only used casually; the sunbeams showed dust everywhere, and one of the wings of the elaborate shutters was still closed. On a long crimson-striped sofa lay Carola’s hat, gloves, and cane. She seated herself near on a fantastic chair of a Chinese pattern; behind her was a picture covered by a faded pink curtain. Luc looked at her and at nothing else. The presence of M. de Richelieu was no longer anything to him; he was waiting for the explanation of this mystery,--Carola Koklinska,--an explanation that had seemed on the point of being revealed in the garden. What was she?--did she or did she not fulfil his ideal of the spiritual power of perfect woman?--did he love her as he knew he was capable of loving? He stood against the closed shutter with his grave hazel eyes on her face. She was colourless save for the false blush on her cheeks: he disliked that artificial glow, and thought of her as she was among the Bohemian snows, haggard and disfigured, yet more pleasing to him then than now. M. de Richelieu glanced from one to the other with an eye of hawk-like brightness. “Do you wish me to speak?” he asked Carola, and cast his hat on to a little tulip-wood table. She bent her head, and the Duke turned with a quiet magnificence of manner to Luc. “Monsieur le Marquis, may I have--for a little--your attention?” With an effort Luc took his eyes from Carola; he was not concerned with what M. de Richelieu had to say.