“I wish to avoid the crowds—I shall not want you before then, Bromley.”
Thus left to his own resources, Mr. Bromley bethought him of some French players now performing at the Hague.
Since the declaration of war they had taken fright at the temper of the people and announced their early departure; but to-night they were giving Tartuffe, and Mr. Bromley had long wanted to see them. He persuaded M. Heenvliet to accompany him; it was their last chance they agreed, with a laugh—who could tell if either of them would see the Hague again?
The Prince went upstairs to his silent rooms, opened the windows on the still spring night and drew the curtains.
Two candles on the mantelshelf and two on the desk lit the room; between the last stood the red rose in a crystal glass.
William sat down at the desk and unlocked the drawers.
He employed no secretary, his letters were always in his own hand; no confidant was tolerated in his intimate affairs.
Drawing the candle nearer to him, with a little half-slow movement, he commenced writing the letters that he hoped and intended should secure allies for the Republic.
The first was to the Emperor. He wrote it slowly, translating it into Spanish from the rough draft he had before him. The second, in German, which he wrote with ease, was to the Elector of Brandenburg; in it he set forth the need of the United Provinces, and passionately implored help in the name of their common religion.