“Not yet.”
“Well, will you share mine?” the Prince drew forward a chair.
M. Beuningen seated himself, murmuring thanks.
He looked agitated and overwrought; his handsome eyes were red, his dress dishevelled.
The Prince folded up his paper and placed it in his pocket. He had changed his suit, and wore a prune-coloured velvet, very plain, and a black sash.
“I have made some notes on the converse of last night,” he remarked.
M. Beuningen poured out the ale from the silver jug.
“Your Highness has to see the envoys again?” he inquired in a humble way.
“This morning, yes,” answered William; “before they leave for Zeyst.”
He leant back and looked full at his companion, with a penetrating and almost smiling glance.