“With the key! Oh, yes! but if you have not got it?”
“How is that? Have not you got the key?” asked the coachman.
“No, I haven’t.”
“What has become of it?”
“Well, they have taken it from me.”
“Who?”
“Some one, I dare say, who had a mind that no one should leave the town.”
“My good man,” said the Grand Pensionary, putting out his head from the window, and risking all for gaining all; “my good man, it is for me, John de Witt, and for my brother Cornelius, who I am taking away into exile.”
“Oh, Mynheer de Witt! I am indeed very much grieved,” said the gatekeeper, rushing towards the carriage; “but, upon my sacred word, the key has been taken from me.”
“When?”