At the slightest touch of submission John de Witt always softened instantly.
He crossed the hearth, came behind William’s chair and laid his hand affectionately on the youth’s shoulder.
“It is difficult to be a prince in a Republic. You have, in many ways, a hard heritage; believe me, I have always understood it. We owe your House too much … of all things I detest ingratitude.… I have seen nobility in you, too. You will be worthy of your name.”
The Prince, whose perfect insight and tact had already assured him that he would obtain no concessions from the Grand Pensionary, controlled himself to a soft answer.
“This further puts me in your debt, M. de Witt,” he said, and rose, holding the mantle on his breast. “You will not find me ungrateful … if I have troubled you … you must forgive me.”
This graceful surrender surprised and touched M. de Witt.
“Indeed I have been ill,” continued William, “or I had written to you—but since I could not with my own hand, I was loath to send you a letter by a clerk.”
“I am sorry for your ill health,” said M. de Witt sincerely, “and glad that you are reasonable.”
“I trust you will never find me otherwise, Mynheer.”
All trace of ill-humour had vanished from the Prince’s manner. He could, when he chose, be charming; very few could resist him when he unbent, certainly not John de Witt.