The nervous quiver of his hand, which moved on the shoulder of his companion as the fingers of a player on the keys of a harpsichord, betrayed his burning impatience, so ill concealed at certain times, and particularly at that moment, under the icy and sombre expression of his face.
The chief of the deputation of the burghers was then heard addressing an interpellation to Mynheer Bowelt, whom he requested to let them know where the other deputies, his colleagues, were.
“Gentlemen,” Bowelt repeated for the second time, “I assure you that in this moment I am here alone with Mynheer d’Asperen, and I cannot take any resolution on my own responsibility.”
“The order! we want the order!” cried several thousand voices.
Mynheer Bowelt wished to speak, but his words were not heard, and he was only seen moving his arms in all sorts of gestures, which plainly showed that he felt his position to be desperate. When, at last, he saw that he could not make himself heard, he turned round towards the open window, and called Mynheer d’Asperen.
The latter gentleman now made his appearance on the balcony, where he was saluted with shouts even more energetic than those with which, ten minutes before, his colleague had been received.
This did not prevent him from undertaking the difficult task of haranguing the mob; but the mob preferred forcing the guard of the States—which, however, offered no resistance to the sovereign people—to listening to the speech of Mynheer d’Asperen.
“Now, then,” the young man coolly remarked, whilst the crowd was rushing into the principal gate of the Town-hall, “it seems the question will be discussed indoors, Captain. Come along, and let us hear the debate.”
“Oh, Monseigneur! Monseigneur! take care!”
“Of what?”