William turned in the saddle to look at him.
“I have allowed you too much license,” he said violently, “but, by God! I am master among my own servants.”
Matthew Bromley stepped back and the Prince let the horse go; it sprang forward, and William disappeared through the Palace gates.
Without troubling where he went he turned towards the outskirts of the town, with the one idea of avoiding the people. He was fast becoming a popular hero, but he never loved the crowd save in the abstract. All public display of affection was distasteful to him; and to-day he was too roused and angry to risk the chance of meeting either M. de Witt or any member of the Assembly.
He had been defeated, bitterly disappointed. He was well used to taking both defeat and disappointment, but this time his passion had slipped his control. His bitter indignation against M. de Witt must find some vent … if it were only a fierce gallop out of the Hague.
He found himself on the klinker paved road, edged with a double row of straight trees. It led to Scheveningen, and with a quick memory of the sea he turned towards the coast. The hour was still early, and a frail sunshine quivered in the foliage and over the meadow-land that stretched either side the road.
Through the blue haze of the damp morning rose the tall, dark forms of windmills, with still sails poised against the delicate sky and the clean brickwork of farms, green shuttered and ornamented with lines of white; the black and white cattle, carefully covered with brown coats, were grazing in the long, rich, fresh grass; here and there a villa stood back among the trees with painted shutters open on treasures from the East—a glowing carpet, a Chinese bowl, or a gaudy Macaw chattering in an ebony ring.
The Prince slackened his pace.
Everything about him showed wealth, peace, and complete prosperity … the great dangers looming on land and sea cast no shadow here.…
Here was a country to be given to the conqueror; here was a rich and fertile kingdom for the insolent French to batten on.…