“M. Vauban requested my attendance.”
“Then I must not keep you,” answered Louis gracefully; “but first, this is a messenger from my cousin, the little Prince of Orange.”
M. de Turenne fixed his searching eyes on Sir Gabriel, and a faint colour tinged his worn cheeks.
Turenne’s mother had come of the House of Nassau; nearly all his life he had belonged to the Reformed religion; but he had sacrificed his conscience to his glory, his faith to his fame.
“Am I to have the Prince of Orange on my staff, Sire?” he asked, with a touch of scorn.
“We hope so, M. le Vicomte,” answered Louis suavely.
The great soldier gave his master a curious look.
“So you have tempted him, too,” he said. “Your Majesty is irresistible.”
“It is you who have made me so,” replied the King.
M. de Louvois smiled at this sourly.