“No.”
“That shows His Highness hates a traitor——”
“Or a coward.”
The two men fell into silence, their gaze still upon the tents.
Close by the soldiers had built fires between bricks, and in a raised earth-oven were cooking meat. The sun darted a long ray through the clouds and sparkled on the distant Rhine; a white butterfly fluttered up from the garden and flew over the tents.
A horseman rode up, flung the reins to his servant, and dismounted at the farmhouse gate.
It was the Prince.
M. Bentinck and M. Beuningen stood aside.
“Come into the house,” said the Captain General abruptly.
When they had followed him into the hall he spoke again.