"Will you not see the messenger?" asked the young Count. "They seem people of distinction."
The two turned back across the fields to the outskirts of the camp where the messenger waited; he was a young Frenchman, well set up and armed, he seemed a squire or upper servant.
"This is the Prince of Orange," said Henry.
The fellow pulled off his cap.
"I salute Your Highness," he said rather defiantly. "And, as your intentions in this country are not known, I am here to know if the ladies under my care may pass your encampment?"
"You should need no assurance," replied the Prince coldly. "You know who I am."
The Frenchman remained obstinate, though he flushed a little under the rebuke.
"The ladies I escort are nuns—an abbess and her train," he replied, "and Your Highness is a heretic and rumoured to be joining Condé——"
"Ah," smiled William. "You think the heretics war on women as the Papists do? Go and tell your mistress that she has my word for her safety," he added carelessly.
The man left them and galloped back to the road.