CHAPTER II
THE TEMPTERS
“Mynheer, if you call the position one of absolute despair,” said William Bentinck, “you will not be wrong.”
He spoke to M. Beuningen, late ambassador to England, who was now employed on desperate errands between the States and the Prince.
It was afternoon, warm and cloudy; the two walked up and down the little garden belonging to the farm where the Captain General had fixed his headquarters. About them lay the encampment. The remnant of the Dutch army, thirteen thousand men, had been gathered here at Newerbrugge to defend the two remaining provinces in concordance with the dauntless policy of the Prince, which was in direct contrast to the consternation, desperation, and submission displayed by the Government.
M. Van Beuningen, accomplished, high-minded, voluble, charming and impetuous, fair, handsome, and finely dressed, was silent awhile, fixing his blue eyes on the distant, sluggish waters of the old Rhine.
M. Bentinck spoke again—
“Louis will be at the Hague in a week.”
“How can you utter such words?” broke out M. Beuningen passionately.
“It is so obvious. Did you hear that Leerdam and Knotsenbourg, Swartenluis, and many smaller places have fallen?”
“I know … I know——”