Each member took then his own place.
William sat down, covered, and began to pull off his gloves, loosening the fingers slowly, one by one, his eyes cast down.
He was younger by twenty years than the youngest there, and despite his gravity looked but the boy he was in contrast with the weighty men about him. M. de Zuylestein, glancing at him, felt his heart sink; too much had been thrust on to the shoulders of seventeen. He looked across the table at M. Van Odyk and in his eyes saw the same uneasiness.
The Deputy of the city of Middelburg rose in his place and turned towards the Prince.
He was a grey-haired man, pompous and self-important.
His even, official voice fell on a contained stillness. He offered the presidency of this meeting to the Prince of Orange; thanked him for coming to Middelburg in person to accept the dignity of premier noble of Zeeland, which, the speaker reminded him, was his by right as well as by the will of the people; professed the greatest loyalty to his interests, and ended with an only half-veiled allusion to Zeeland’s readiness to go yet further lengths on his behalf.
He sat down.
There was a pause; every one was looking at the Prince. M. de Zuylestein felt uneasy. He knew how much William had dared to be there, and what this enterprise meant to him, and the youth’s perfect self-control seemed to him unnatural. He did not know what this boy was going to say, he feared both that it might be too bold and not bold enough.
William laid his tasselled gloves on the table and rose.