The Prince sprang into the saddle and caught up the reins.
Matthew Bromley, who knew him as well as any man was permitted to, saw that he was in a passionate ill-humour.
“See M. Fagel out of the house—and get out of the way, Bromley.”
The horse, mettlesome and fierce, like all the Prince’s animals, had grown restive with waiting, and tossed his head impatiently. But William held him in with an ease that betrayed a good deal of strength behind his delicate appearance.
“Stand out of the way,” he repeated, addressing Mr. Bromley and the groom.
“Is Your Highness going alone?”
The Prince thrust his whip under his arm and scowled at the speaker in a fashion that warned Mr. Bromley to be silent.
But the Englishman, disturbed at this rare passion on his master’s part, persisted—
“Where are you going, Sir; is there no message?”