“Yes, Mynheer.”
“Then bring him here.”
Florent Van Mander, entering immediately, had a pleasant picture of the Englishman standing by the open window with a row of tulips and narcissi showing behind him on the sill, and the grey and white pigeons circling above the gaudy flowers.
Mr. Bromley was cordial.
“We have not forgotten each other, Mynheer!—but it is not so long——”
Van Mander closed the door.
“Three years. It is three years since I was last at the Hague,” he said jealously.
“And three years of big events,” conceded Mr. Bromley. “But where is M. Bentinck?”
“He fell ill at Hertogenbosch;” Florent spoke briefly. “And I left him there, in his cousin’s house—he sent me on to acquaint the Prince of this delay——”