“I confess it had occurred to me—but,” de Pomponne shrugged his shoulders, “these Hollanders!—and the Prince is secretive—even for a Hollander.”
“Still, Monsieur, you can try.”
“You mean Madame Lavalette can try,” answered the Marquis.
“It would be my advice, Monseigneur.”
“Take most men—she would get more in five minutes than I in a fortnight,” de Pomponne admitted; “but whether this little Calvinist——”
“He is seventeen, Monsieur—it is not possible he should possess the wisdom of thrice his age.”
“Well, we will put him to the test;” the Marquis gave his indolent smile and pushed back his chair.
Hyacinthe St. Croix rose.
“I will send you a ticket for the ball,” said the Marquis. “You had better be there.”