"You set too high a value on bone and muscle!" he cried, with a passionate sneer. "You are jolly fellows, both of you; but who will remember you when you have been dead a year? But men," he added with a terrible energy, "will talk of the Prince of Orange, and of me."
They stared at him, amazed at this outburst, and Shrewsbury, seeing what a frail, deformed creature he was, blushed with a kind of shame.
"Good God!" said Mr. Fletcher, "I am not working for fame, my lord."
"No!" flashed Lord Mordaunt; "creatures of clay—of clay! Prettily coloured, but a breath of the fire that burneth in the little plain vessels would crack you in a day."
He gave a flourishing bow, and walked off towards the Stadhuis.
"An Eccentric," remarked Mr. Fletcher, looking after him.
"I fear so. He will put himself into a passion at a word; but he would pledge his whole fortune for you if you were in need of it," answered the Earl. "How suddenly dark it is; let us, sir, go home."
CHAPTER XII
FRANCE MOVES AGAIN
It was mid-October; the Prince's preparations were complete, even to the putting of the horses on board, and yet there was silence from France. A terrible lull of suspense hushed the United Provinces, and of all the anxious hearts there was none so anxious as that of the man who had staked this great wager—the Stadtholder.