"Are you from The Hague?" she asked gently.
"Yes, Madam, I came there yesterday."
She was English, and obviously did not know Mary, who was moved by something pitifully eager and wistful in her worn thin face and stooping figure.
"You are belike one of the English exiles?" she suggested kindly.
The other opened out at once with a glow of gratitude at the interest.
"My husband was an officer in the Staffordshire, Madam, and we had no money but his pay, so when he refused to abjure there was nothing for us but exile."
Mary pointed to the fleet.
"He—your husband—is there?"
"Yes—the Prince gave him a pair of colours in one of the English regiments."
"You should be proud," smiled Mary.