Florent suddenly shrugged his shoulders.
“These are foolish matters for us to be discussing. You know where my interests lie, Monsieur; and,” he added, with a strange note of defiance, “you have pointed out that safety also rests with my silence. You need not fear that I should betray you to M. de Witt, or be over faithful to him. I, at least, am not a fool.”
“I think you are shrewd enough,” answered St. Croix, “and I have trusted you with a delicate matter. The way to your fortune is plain: for the present, stay where you are, keep quiet and docile to M. de Witt.”
Florent smiled.
“He is not difficult to fool,” he said grimly, “—M. de Witt.”
“No,” assented St. Croix, lazily watching his rings of smoke; “but he is difficult to lie to.”
Florent was silent; a dusky colour flushed into his cheeks.
“M. le Marquis,” continued the Frenchman, “hath told me that he finds the Grand Pensionary more troublesome to deal with than any clever rogue.”
“Yet he is simple, credulous,” said Florent. “See, in this matter of the Prince, how he trusts him.”