“Well?” M. Bentinck asked.
“I still have hopes.”
“In what?”
“In the Prince.”
M. Bentinck smiled rather grimly.
“The Prince is another matter—he is not involved in the ruin of the States.”
M. Beuningen glanced at him quickly.
“Mynheer,” he said in an agitated voice, “you are His Highness’ friend—tell me, in God’s name, has he a mind to sell us to the French?”
“Why, you speak bluntly.”