The Prince looked up at the name.
“What is that you say?” he asked.
Florent approached, gave some stumbling explanation that William did not seem to hear, and delivered the Secretary’s letter.
The Prince put it down unopened.
“It seems that there is no one at the Hague can resist M. de Witt,” he said; then he roused himself to speak to Matthew Bromley—
“Take M. Fagel’s messenger to your quarters—it may be that I shall want to see him presently.”
When the two had gone William Bentinck came softly forward; the sunlight, that was taking on a richer, deeper hue, fell through the tent opening, and lit up the golden inlay and garnishing of his armour and the bright rings of his fair hair.
The Prince took off his hat and pushed the locks back off his forehead.
“Ah, William,” he said in a tone of anguish, “can it be possible?”
“These republicans are very stubborn——”