“And you have changed a great deal,” replied Bentinck, gazing at him eagerly.
“Do you think so?”
They had reached the quiet library; the Prince sat beside his friend on an oak settle that stood against the wall.
The room was golden from end to end with the light of candles and a silver lamp placed on the desk, where it cast a strong glow over a bowl of orange and purple tulips. The curtains were not drawn, and each of the long windows framed a picture of blue twilight, trees, and sky.
“What of M. de Witt?” asked Bentinck. “It seems to me he cannot long keep the power—every village I rode through seethed with discontent.”
“Tell me of yourself, my lord,” urged William affectionately. “I have been without friends so long.”
“Of myself! You jest, Highness—I, an exile, newly returned to the theatre of great events!”
William sighed.
“There is very little to tell you … there will be war, of course.”
“And the Captain Generalship?”