M. Beverningh spoke in a pleasant, quiet manner; as if he touched on matters of general interest that did not personally concern either himself or his listener. He made a great semblance of frankness, yet most effectually concealed his own feelings and views.
Florent liked him; he felt emboldened to speak much more freely than was his wont.
“The peace proposals are not popular at the Hague either, Mynheer. The people choose to take it as an attempt to sell them to the French, and M. de Witt is daily attacked in the pamphlets.”
“Ah, we are a nation of pamphleteers and medallists—we have all been assailed in turn. M. de Witt hath more serious things to trouble him than libels.” M. Beverningh changed his tone. “You marvel to hear the representative of the Government speak so openly, Mynheer Van Mander—but I am His Highness’ friend.”
Florent was surprised; he stared at the calm, wrinkled face of Jerome Beverningh, without comment.
“If any one can save the country it will be the Prince,” Beverningh continued.
“He has a hard task,” said Florent.
“For most men an impossible one, but His Highness is not of the common make, he has great gifts—above all the gift of command.”
“Is he popular in the army?” asked Florent.
“He alone keeps the army together; the men are under-paid, under-fed, yet the cavalry do the work of the infantry, the officers will dig trenches and make gun-carriages—and there is no complaint, because of the Prince.”