With that he rose.
The pride and daring of this speech confounded her as if he had used sudden violence. The colour gathered in her cheeks and her blue eyes became bright and hard.
“You think, Madame, that I am impolitic,” said the Prince, who had now easily the mastery of the situation, “but while I am the subject of the Republic it is you who are impolitic to broach to me my cousin’s designs.”
She rallied herself as best she might from his unlooked-for defiance.
“Your Highness surprises me. Are you wise—are you in a position to take this tone to the King of France?”
William put his hand to his side where his sword should have been—
“I am grateful for his Majesty’s private friendship—but he mistakes my importance in the State. You should go, Madame, to M. de Witt.”
He gave her a glance that brought a flame into her blood, bent his head, and turned away.
Madame Lavalette sat as he had left her, her hands either side of her, on the settee, and the angry red in her face.
In a few moments M. de Pomponne came up. Seeing him she rose angrily.