“I am no traitor,” he repeated vehemently. “I swear it!”
“If that be not perjury I am sorry for you,” answered William; “for Louis is your King, and it were better for you to serve him through treachery than fail us through cowardice.”
The Vicomte made an effort to control himself.
“I am unfortunate,” he said in a half sobbing bitterness “to have ever displeased Your Highness, for I see you are unmerciful.”
William lifted the flap, blew a little whistle he drew from his pocket, and said something rapidly to the soldier the summons brought.
“I shall appeal to the Grand Pensionary!” cried M. de Montbas.
“If you be innocent you may prove it without his help,” answered William, turning back into the tent; “and if you be guilty John de Witt will not dare to save you.”
He stopped at the table and looked narrowly at the other man.
“It is true I never liked you,” he said, “but if you had been one whom I loved, and had let the French across the Rhine and lost fifteen hundred men, I should now act the same.”
M. de Montbas winced, and put his gloved hand to his lips with a gesture of terror.