In an even voice, with the air of one who courteously, but without conviction, discharges a duty, the Duke began speaking. He related, from the inside, politics that Luc knew already from the outside; he gave details of the present state of affairs between the Courts of France, Austria, England, and Prussia; he indicated the web of intrigues that was continually being spun beyond the scrutiny of the public eye. Luc listened without interest; he had already guessed that M. de Richelieu intended, through the influence of the Countess, to offer him some adventurous chance in politics, and he had already resolved to refuse--he began, in fact, to understand. Even while the Duke was speaking, Luc’s mind was still busy with the problem of Carola. Once or twice he allowed his glance to rest on her: she was seated with her pallid face supported between her long ringless hands; her cloak had fallen apart, and a crystal heart that hung round her neck by a thin silver chain swung and twinkled above her knees. M. de Richelieu proceeded to unfold a plan for the confusion of Maria Theresa. A young man had been prepared and instructed for the principal rôle in this intrigue, but unfortunately had lost his life in a duel; and Madame la Comtesse having declared she knew of some one to take his place---- The Duke paused. “What is the task you wish me to undertake, Monsieur?” asked Luc, without raising his head; while the Duke was speaking, a great many things had become slowly plain. M. de Richelieu told him with an almost crude brevity. He was to go to the Austrian Court and proclaim himself neglected by his country; he was to offer to serve Maria, the unfortunate Empress-Queen; he was to creep into her confidences, and forward them to the French Ministers. “Madame la Comtesse is going to Austria,” finished the Duke; “you would work in collusion.” An extraordinary calmness came over Luc. He slightly moved his attitude against the shutter. “In what capacity, Madame, are you going to the Court of Austria?” he asked. She made no answer. The Duke looked steadily at Luc. “You refuse, of course?” he said. The Marquis smiled. “I thank you, Monsieur, for the compliment. Your position is awkward--and I am grateful for your courtesy.” He pressed his handkerchief to his pale but firm lips. The Duke gave a little bow. “You did not understand?” “No--but now I do.” Carola, still holding her head in her hands, looked with great tragic eyes from one to another. M. de Richelieu crossed over to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I always promised you, Madame, that you should have your own way in your whims--and I have done what you asked me to. Unfortunately, Monsieur de Vauvenargues refuses.” “He has had no time to consider,” she said, without changing her attitude. Luc stepped from the window. “One word, M. le Duc--this is your house?” “Yes,” answered M. de Richelieu, with the slightest lift of his delicate brows.