He already had learnt something of the character of the Prince he intended to serve, already guessed at something of the imperious passion behind the contained exterior.
Now he had proof of it, and it spurred and stimulated him. He bore not the least ill-will to William for his anger. It seemed that the Prince was one of those who are served and beloved without effort on their part. M. Fagel was more eager than ever to please him; in common with many others, the chance of William’s taciturn thanks was more to him than the certainty of M. de Witt’s courteous graciousness.
“We will do our best, Highness,” he said, rising from his chair.
William gave him a not wholly pleasant glance.
“Reflect on what I have said, M. Fagel,” he answered haughtily.
With that he flung open the door and was gone.
Mr. Bromley, waiting in the doorway in case his attendance was required, fell back at once before the sight of his master’s face as the Prince swept out into the sunlight.
The groom brought up the grey horse.
“Shall I accompany Your Highness?” ventured Mr. Bromley.
“No—I am not going to the ‘Huis ten bosch.’”