He wore a long dark mantle and a plumed hat. He did not uncover; he exacted as if by instinct the privileges of royalty, and his household conceded them. Despite M. de Witt he was surrounded by a court.
“Mynheer Van Mander,” he said, with his usual slowness.
Florent flushed and bowed—over low for a good republican.
The Prince came down the long chamber.
“Are you prepared to go to Brandenburg?” he asked.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
William made no answer, and Florent glanced, half covertly, at his face.
The Prince was looking thoughtfully at the floor, his features almost concealed by the shadow of his hat. Under his mantle could be seen the soft colour of his pale violet coat; one of his bare hands rested on his cravat, in the other he held a letter.
He spoke without looking up—
“I do not know that you gain much by the change of masters, Mynheer Van Mander. It is very quiet at my uncle the Elector’s court, and M. Bentinck can only pay you moderately.”