“As he always is,” grumbled de Pomponne.
Madame Lavalette tapped her chin with the tips of her feather fan.
“The Prince hates women, I think,” she said, “and all manner of frivolities——”
“He is as austere as John de Witt … but a great deal younger.”
“And not so confirmed in severity?” She smiled and raised a face that was glowing a golden rose-colour in the radiance of the fire. “Maybe he hath lacked opportunity,” she added. “Had he even the nature of a rake he could hardly have shown it under M. de Witt’s guardianship.”
“Mon Dieu, no!”
The Duchess looked thoughtfully into the clear flames.
She was angry with M. de Witt for having refused her an opportunity to execute her mission. Did she succeed in drawing the Prince of Orange she might avenge herself on the severe Grand Pensionary, and not wholly fail towards M. de Louvois. She foresaw that let M. de Witt once see her even speaking to William, he would take care no other chance would be given for the continuance of her intrigues, for he knew both her character and her mission.
But Madame Lavalette decided she might be careless there, for she was leaving Holland. She could also rely on accomplishing much in a short time.
She was not generally unsuccessful.