“Yes.”
“Therefore the Prince wishes you to know his answer.”
The lights in the Binnenhof, in the Maritshuis, began to be visible; sparks of yellow showed, too, in the windows of the houses in the Kneuterdyk Avenue; a cold wind was rising. Florent shivered; with chilled, damp fingers he took the paper from its cover and, bending towards the light, looked at it. The signature caught his eye first.
“This is M. de Pomponne’s letter!” he cried.
“It is also the Prince’s answer,” returned Mr. Bromley. “You may show it to M. de Witt—if you will.”
A swift excitement shook Florent.
“Then … what dealings has he—the Prince—with France?”
“You may imagine—he returns M. de Pomponne’s letter.”
“He is subservient to M. de Witt—he will not go to Middelburg——?”
“He will do nothing under the protection of M. de Pomponne.”