Florent arranged the papers as he was told; then put out the unnecessary candles and got to his feet, stretching himself.
The freshness of the early wind was marvellous.
The secretary went to the wide open window. Before him were the trees in their ideal freshness and the green walks of the Palace garden; beyond the turrets and towers of the Hague.
The birds were beginning their lusty, untaught harmony and a rose-coloured veil was being lifted from the heavens, disclosing the blue of a fair spring day.
Florent rested his head against the mullions and drew a troubled breath.
War … the beginning of War … what was it like?… War.
At Charleroi lay a great army, coming nearer—from Chatham and from Brest huge armaments advanced … nearer.… A curious fact to dwell on, here, looking over the peaceful Hague.
Well, he, Florent Van Mander, was no patriot … yet it was strange to think of this country of his, not long ago the Arbitrator of Europe, the greatest maritime power in the world, the richest, most prosperous in commerce, fallen to a footstool for the French.
Even a hero could not prevent it, he thought, and the Republic owned no hero; only John de Witt, who was a good man, and William of Orange, who was playing his own game.…
This very night he had written a letter to his uncle Charles … perhaps it was a guarantee that Louis’ troops should not find their conquest difficult … in consideration of … a price.