“Certainly, I think you wrong him.”
“It is you, John, who give him virtues never yet found in the hearts of princes,” returned the old republican grimly.
The Grand Pensionary glanced through the window at that peaceful picture of his daughters under the trees.
“What do you seek to persuade me to, sir?” he asked gently.
“I seek to prevent you making further submission to the Prince of Orange.”
“Sir, I have never submitted to him, nor departed from the Perpetual Edict … you know how I fought against his appointment … but once the States have elected him I must help, not hinder, him in his duties.”
Jacob de Witt shook his head.
“Of a brood of tyrants,” he said in a low voice, “tyrants.…”
John de Witt raised his noble, mournful face—