Then he turned slowly into the house.
M. Gaspard Fagel, a man of talents but a servile spirit, the rival of M. de Witt, and already almost completely under the influence of the Prince, waited in the library, or the chamber that served for such; the room where Van Mander had first seen the Prince, and where William always received such as waited on him.
The Prince entered, booted, spurred, carrying his riding-whip and wearing his hat.
“Ah, M. Fagel.”
He held out his bare right hand, and the Secretary of the Republic kissed it humbly.
William did not uncover, but his manner was gracious. He knew Gaspard Fagel for what he was—able, industrious, cunning, a man who would be a tool.
It was men just such as he that William needed. There were many of them among the servants of the Republic, and very few had resisted the advances of the heir of Nassau.
“I must congratulate you personally on your appointment, M. Fagel,” said the Prince, seating himself in front of the desk, between the windows.
“Your Highness is very good,” and M. Fagel bowed. He was a well-looking man, richly dressed in green and gold, of a far more pompous appearance than William, who wore a plain brown roquelaure and beaver.
“You come from the Assembly, Mynheer?”