“Pray God King Louis’ terms will be reasonable,” he said grimly; “for whatever they are we must accept them.”
CHAPTER XIII
THE FANATICS
M. Van Ouvenaller snuffed the candle, took off his glasses, wiped them, and set them again on his nose and took up his long quill pen.
It was about eleven at night and very hot; the window was set open on the June dark, on the expanse of the Vyverberg and the trees of the Kneuterdyk Avenue beyond the water.
The Binnenhof was empty save for this room where John de Witt and his clerk sat completing the day’s task.
It was a little chamber, simply furnished, its sole adornment several handsome pictures of flowers and still life.
The candlesticks, taper-holders, and ink-stands were of glittering brass, and the only bright objects in the severe, sombre surroundings of John de Witt.
He wore black velvet, and leant back a little in his stiff, carved chair. His full brown eyes were fixed on his clerk, who was finishing the notes on the day’s affairs which were to be used in the Grand Pensionary’s speech to the Assembly to-morrow.