He was a slight Irishman, and had been handsome, but dissipation, poverty, and meanness had given him a haggard and livid appearance; he wore gaudy, but tarnished, finery, and a huge red-brown peruke that hung in knots of heavy curls either side his sharp face.
"I desired a private audience, Highness," he said, speaking in perfect French.
"We are private here, M. le Marquis," answered William, handing the packet of papers back to M. de Hesse. "And we are glad that you have come, for we had business to discuss with you."
He seated himself at that, and M. D'Albeville came to the opposite side of the table, so directly facing him; the others remained standing.
"You," said William, with energy, "have been trying to fool me, M. le Marquis. You have seen fit to convey warnings to the court of England and to M. D'Avaux."
The look of fear that was never quite absent from the Irishman's face deepened; he seemed to shrink into his stiff buckram and brocade clothes.
"So God help me——" he began.
"Oh, enough of your oaths!" cried the Prince, in a sudden burst of fury. "Do you think I have time to listen to your cursed excuses? How much have you told that damned Frenchman?"
So direct, terrible, and sincere was his passion that the object of it retreated towards the door, and even the spectators were awed.
"I protest," answered the Ambassador, dry-lipped, "I have told nothing. I have sent reassuring messages to His Majesty, as Your Highness knoweth——"