“The matter is not one for fair phrasing.”
M. Bentinck knocked with his cane at the heavy heads of the pinks along the walk.
“I am not free to say anything of the Prince, Mynheer; but I will tell you this, His Highness is in no way bound to the States, who have kept his rights from him and treated him with suspicion and distrust for twenty years.”
“You justify his acceptance of overtures from the King of France?”
“I say he is not bound by any law to refuse them.”
“By your leave, Mynheer,” answered M. Beuningen, “the laws of God forbid a man to sell his country.”
“The laws of God,” smiled M. Bentinck, “vary according to the interpreter,—and I think, Mynheer, that there will be very little of the United Provinces left for any one to either buy or sell.”
M. Beuningen uttered a little sound of desperation. The Prince’s friend watched him with some malice, for he had been of the republican party in the days of the glory of John de Witt.
“What is it like at the Hague?” asked M. Bentinck.
They halted by the gate and looked over the neat painted paling towards the camp.