She was summing herself up in words much like those the Prince had used; her smile was cynical.
“I have been at it twenty years—I had better leave youth alone.…”
She passed down the stairs William had just descended, the candlelight on her white shoulders, her gleaming fair hair, and the long pearls in her ears.
Behind her went M. de Pomponne, smiling.
M. de Witt looked after them with a foreboding expression in his sad eyes. The Count de Montbas in his resplendent uniform, hitching at his great sword, joined him.
“What is the matter, Mynheer?” he asked in a tense voice.
M. de Witt gave a start.
“I?—what do you mean?”
The Count smiled uneasily.
“You are disturbed, Mynheer.”