CHAPTER X
THE VICOMTE DE MONTBAS
Two hours later William Bentinck returned to the Prince’s tent.
The sun had set in a splendour of tawny vapour, and a warm yet damp wind blew over the low and melancholy looking land, and a misty heaviness was abroad.
The outer portion of the tent was empty; behind the green curtain Bentinck found the Prince alone writing at a small camp-table.
One of the oil-lamps William had complained of gave a bright but flickering light.
In the corner stood a bed with a red coverlet, and near it an iron and leather dispatch-box, the key in the lock; at the foot of the bed was a large trunk that seemed to have been ransacked for something in a hurry, for it stood open, and linen shirts and cravats were tossed up, and trailed on to the grassy floor that was a shade of unhealthy yellow in the artificial light.
The Prince’s armour, that he evaded when he could (finding the weight unsupportable), lay heaped up by the trunk, and on a chair rested a violet leather case showing a number of articles in carved gold.
William nodded at Bentinck, and hastily added his name to the letter he was writing.