With that he sighed, three times—and died with the gentlest stilling of his breath.
The Prince drew back a little; then lifted Mr. Bromley’s hands and crossed them on his breast.
Death had come so softly the pillow and coverlet were not disturbed by unavailing struggles nor was Matthew Bromley. He looked at rest.
The Prince pulled the curtain, and went to the stained velvet coat hanging over the high-backed chair.
In the pockets were letters, charms, and a snuff-box full of gold pieces.
William burnt the papers without reading them, and left the money and the Prayer-book on the chair.
Then he re-entered the kitchen. M. Bentinck was smoking a short clay.
“Matthew Bromley is dead,” said the Prince.
“Poor soul!” answered William Bentinck. M. Beverningh was silent, and M. de Zuylestein asleep.