Florent was silent. His desire was to serve the Prince personally, to have some chance of winning his favour, to be in the thick of events at the Hague, the seat of action.
Brandenburg seemed far away, and he had no interest in M. Bentinck. It was not for this that he had left John de Witt; but, having burnt his bridges behind him, there was nothing to do save to go on.
Mr. Bromley saw by his face he was not pleased.
“It shows His Highness thinks something of you, M. Mander,” he remarked, “that he puts himself to this trouble; and M. Bentinck is his best friend.”
They stood in one of the bare ante-chambers of the Prince’s Palace. M. Van Ghent had allowed William to see the secretary he was sending to the Elector’s court, and Florent awaited his audience.
He would rather have been alone or silent; but Matthew Bromley’s pleasant manners would not tolerate pauses. He snuffed the candles, pulled the dark curtains closer, and remarked that it was cold.
“And the night of the ball at the Binnenhof.”
“The Prince is going?” asked Florent.
“Yes,” Bromley answered, with some reserve.