“I think he will be out of humour,” remarked the other secretary,—“I do not mean angry, like other men, but sad.”
The note of admiration in his voice was marked. Florent continued docketing the papers, letters from England, before him; Van Ouvenaller, who had just entered the library, stood against the desk looking down at him.
“It is this pastor,” he continued. “He has very ill repaid M. de Witt’s courtesy.”
“Mynheer the Pastor Simon Simonides?” inquired Florent. “I saw him—why did he come here?”
“By the order of Their High Mightinesses,” answered the other, with some satisfaction, “to ask M. de Witt’s pardon for a sermon he preached some days ago—before you came to the Hague.”
Florent glanced up.
“A treasonable sermon?”
“He strove to stir the people into sedition by accusing them of ingratitude to the Prince of Orange, and spoke very burningly against the Republic.”
“He looked sour and fierce,” said Florent, “but M. de Witt was very gracious to him.”
“Too gracious,” returned Van Ouvenaller, with some heat. “He said as sole reproof—‘Mynheer, you have outstepped your duty, which is to heal, not to create, discord,’ and with that made him stay to dinner. But the old man was not softened; he left as hot against us as he had come.”