“No. I cannot keep him in my service, Bromley—yet he might be useful,” added the Prince, with the statesman’s dislike to waste good material. “Well, we will talk of it to M. de Zuylestein.”
He lapsed into silence, but as they passed the Stadhuis Mr. Bromley roused him.
“Then you are still on bad terms with M. de Witt?” he suggested; wondering what this interview had amounted to, and whether the Prince’s cause had been advanced or no by this flight to Middelburg and its results.
“I am very good friends with M. de Witt,” answered William grimly, from out the depths of his riding-cloak collar, “and he hath forgiven me. But I had to fawn on him—fawn on him, Bromley!… It is a thing not to be forgotten.”
CHAPTER IX
AMALIA OF SOLMS
Her Highness the Dowager Princess of Orange coloured with pleasure, hastily put aside the letter she was writing, and went down to the chamber where, as she had just been told, her grandson awaited her.
It was a pouring wet day, and she had not been able to leave her elegant little residence to go into the garden which was, even at this time of the year, her delight. This had added to the weariness and monotony of her ordinary quiet life, and made the rare favour of a voluntary visit from the Prince, the only member of her family left her, and the person that she held dearest in the world, the more grateful.
The Princess was still comely, vivacious, and bright as when Prince Frederick Henry had married her, forty years ago. She was dressed with a richness and surrounded with a comfort that her straitened means made a marvel. To prevent economy from becoming meanness, and to keep luxury this side of extravagance, were her constant, almost her only, employments.