“You overheard, perhaps, what I was saying to Monsieur St. Croix?”
“No, Monsieur.”
She glanced up. Her fair and shining hair was waved simply round her oval face and caught on her neck with a pearl comb; a few long ringlets fell on to her deep lace collar. Her face had a soft, almost plaintive expression, her mouth was small and wistful.
“Well,” said the Marquis, “I will desire you to attend the ball at the Binnenhof.”
“Monsieur,” she answered, “I have M. de Louvois’ commands to go to Spain.”
“But you may do me this service first, Madame la Duchesse.”
“What is the problem and the service, Monsieur?”
The Marquis, looking down at her indolently, frowned now discontentedly.
“The problem is the Prince of Orange, Madame—and the service——”