“Yes.”
“A servant of the Prince whom we have used,” St. Croix went on, “as a go-between has lately been suspected, and dismissed by M. de Witt; we are hard put to it for a means to communicate with the Prince.”
Florent straightened himself in the stiff chair. To-morrow was Tuesday.
“Van Ouvenaller accompanied M. de Witt last week,” he said. “I think it very likely that M. de Witt will request me to do so this—but I shall be left in the antechamber.…”
St. Croix shrugged his shoulders.
“As to that—you must find your chance—better wait than risk detection.… I leave it to your discretion.”
“I am not imprudent,” smiled Florent. “Give me the packet—if I go I will attempt it; if not I can, as you say, wait.…”
The Frenchman took a thick, folded letter from the inner lining of his red coat and laid it on the table between them.
“If that reach His Highness safely it will be a service M. de Pomponne will not forget,” he said impressively.
“I will do my best,” answered Florent, “but I still value my place; while M. de Witt is Grand Pensionary I think it worth while to be in his good graces.”