M. Bentinck seated himself.
“He was monstrous sick, is now something haggard.”
“One may not wonder after fifteen hours in Calais Roads,” answered the Prince, with grim sympathy; he had nearly died of his own crossing last year.
“Well,” he added, “where is M. Sylvius?”
“In the camp, but——”
M. Bentinck hesitated.
“I will see him.”
“Highness, on my soul you take too much fatigue upon yourself—wait until the morning.”
“Nay, I will see him now,” answered William; had it been any other than Bentinck he would have spoken angrily.
“It is not long before the council, if you would rest——”