They are mostly fools, he thought, and shivered back from the sea wind, closing the window.
For a long while he sat silent in his comfortable room, smoking, and staring at his own shadow the candlelight cast over the dark walls. Once or twice he took the letter given by Hyacinthe St. Croix out of his pocket and fingered and scrutinised it, thinking the while—thinking.
And from without came the remote sounds of the students fighting, shouting, tussling with the train-bands in the name of William of Orange.
Florent Van Mander almost envied men who could be so simple.
CHAPTER III
MASTER AND PUPIL
“Do you accompany M. de Witt to-day?” asked Van Ouvenaller.
Florent replied without looking up—
“Yes.”