An embarrassing silence followed upon Madam De Witt's question, a silence which Monsieur Tilly broke:
"Madam, your brother is suffering with an abscess on his thumb. It would be difficult for him to hold a pen."
"Mary, my cloak, my sword, my gloves; quick, I pray you," said John De Witt to his wife.
Madam De Witt left in quest of the articles demanded by her husband. No sooner had she withdrawn than Tilly, Serdan, Salaun Lebrenn and his son cried in alarm: "Give up the thought! Do not go to the castle! You will be marching to your death!"
"The letter is a forgery!" added Serdan. "They are laying a snare for you, and the jailer is in the plot!"
"First of all, hear what Cornelius writes to me," said John De Witt to his friends, and he read:
"Dear brother, I am obliged to help myself with a stranger's hand to write to you. I urge you earnestly, come to me to the castle without delay. Your presence is indispensable. One of the jailers is devoted to me. He will lead you by a circuitous route, where you are not likely to meet anyone. Come, come."
"Treachery!" repeated Serdan. "I tell you once more, their purpose is to lead you into a trap, an ambush!"
"Cornelius has heard from his prison the clamor of the people for his life, and for yours," added Monsieur Tilly. "There is even fear that the maddened mob may succeed in breaking into the prison, and do you suppose that your brother would call you to his side at such a moment? No, no! There is treachery in all this!"
"But suppose this letter was truly dictated by my brother!" cried John De Witt, interrupting Tilly. "Suppose that, finding himself about to die as the result of his torture, he wishes to die in my arms! Suppose he awaits my presence as a supreme consolation! Should I hesitate before a sacred duty? No, never!"