That was all.
William uttered none of those things that Florent, up to the last even, might have been expecting. Neither thanks nor caution did the Prince give him; did not bid him be faithful or discreet, yet expressed no trust in him; gave no explanation of, and passed no comment on, his choice of him for this service.
He walked slowly towards the door, and Florent, in leaving the room, must pass him.
The Prince suddenly held out his hand and smiled. Florent felt the blood glow in his face. He went on one knee and raised the soft, white, and beautiful hand to his lips.
William wore a diamond ring, and the lace round his wrist was faintly perfumed. Florent noticed this; it was part of the appeal of rank and tradition, the fascination of royalty.
When he rose the Prince was no longer smiling, but Florent was amply repaid for any sacrifice he had made in joining his service.
William turned away as he left the room and walked back to where Mr. Bromley waited.
“That man can be faithful,” he said as the door closed on Florent.
Mr. Bromley made a little grimace.
“He has not been faithful to M. de Witt, Highness.”