“Did you hear of their complaints?” he asked in an amused tone. “My uncle protests that the Royal Charles, decked with English flags, was shown for a penny a head to gaping boors, thereupon M. de Witt sends the flags back and withdraws the ship——”
“A poor-spirited move!” cried M. Bentinck.
“As if my uncle was a man to care for his country’s prestige! Then it was His Christian Majesty—he complains that Van Beuningen after his return from the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle was presented with a medal making mock of His Majesty.”
William, never devoid of humour, laughed outright, showing his white teeth in genuine amusement.
“The noble city of Amsterdam was accused of this—‘Nec pluribus impar’ is His Majesty’s motto, and they had a presentment of King Sun with his rays clipped, and this inscription, ‘In conspectu meo stelit sol.’ There were other offences too; pamphlets printed at the Hague insulting the omnipotent. Poor M. de Witt and Van Beuningen have been rushing to and fro trying to appease the offended deity.”
He added in a graver tone—
“But of course Louvois is behind it—he is jealous of our commerce.”
“M. de Witt, I take it, still hopes for peace?”
“Even M. de Witt,” answered William, “will not be able to indulge that hope much longer, I think.”
He rested his elbow against the mantelshelf and took his face in his hand; the candlelight fell softly on his thick bright hair and sparkled in the green ring on his little finger.