In the niche above the name of Floris were helmet, mantle, and sword only.
William did not even glance at the only other monument the church contained, that to the brothers Van Evertzen, which was still in course of erection. The staunch republican heroes had not so much interest for the young Prince as the simple record of these long-dead rulers of Holland.
He stood so still the gentlemen behind him thought that he must be praying. They could not see his face, only his slight figure leaning against the railing, the bright hair on his shoulders and his slack hand holding the beaver whose drooping plume touched the ground.
Suddenly he turned, and there was a faint colour in his face.
“You have a fine church, Mynheer,” he addressed the Zeeland nobleman in a low voice. “I should wish to be here on Sunday.”
They passed out of the cold light of the church into the sunless grey of the morning air. M. Van Odyk came to meet them.
The Deputies were waiting to conduct His Highness to the Stadhuis. His Highness did not hurry himself for this, but came leisurely across the courtyard.
Among those waiting round the Abbey door was one he recognised.
He stopped.
“M. Van Mander,” he said.