The Princess gave a sigh that flashed the diamonds on her purple bodice.
“I wish you would not take it so bitterly.… M. de Witt means to be courteous.”
“What courtesy was it that forced me and M. de Montbas to meet?”
“He wishes to reconcile you.”
William smiled scornfully.
The fiddles were tuning up and the dancers taking their places on the polished floor.
“You make a mistake,” said Amalia of Solms. “These women have some influence—they have a right to feel slighted. You should take more pains to please.”
The Prince made no reply. Amalia of Solms cast a half timid glance at his composed profile, and the fan fluttered nervously on her velvet lap.
“You think that I am a silly old woman, no doubt, William, but believe me I am right. M. de Pomponne said the same to me—that you kept yourself too close.”