“If you would fetch Sir Gabriel Sylvius, my child,” said the Prince, folding up his letter.
M. Bentinck gave in, but protesting. When he returned with William’s confidential agent, he found the Prince in the same place, writing again.
He stopped immediately on their entrance.
“It gives me great pleasure to see you, M. Sylvius—William, bring another chair.” He looked round the tent, “We are not very luxurious here nor very neat——”
He seemed for the first time to realise the disorder about him.
“I told Bromley to see to this, but he spends too much time playing cards.”
M. Sylvius went on one knee and kissed his master’s hand.
“So you had a bad crossing?” William pushed back his chair and smiled.
“Hideous, Your Highness; I thought that never should we gain the land.”