“The English envoys have arrived—I am to see them now. Mynheer Van Beuningen, you come from the Hague, I will speak with you afterwards.”
Leaving the messenger of the States standing under the mirror—the first thing to be found in all Dutch houses (so that the visitor might find his own image before anything)—the Prince turned to the room to the left, followed by William Bentinck.
It was a small chamber of dark wood, plainly furnished; the table covered with dispatches.
The Prince went to the window and opened it. The fever that he had recovered from, as by a miracle, returned at intervals, and had greatly aggravated his asthmatic cough; he was shivering now, though the weather was oppressively hot.
He returned to the table and spoke to Bentinck—
“I have heard from Sir Gabriel.”
“Favourable news, Sir?”
“King Louis is resolved to ruin the States, but is wholly friendly to me. M. de Louvois said the English asked too much, and were not in a condition to put forward such terms as his master—so they quarrel already over the plunder.” He coughed, and seated himself at the table. “I have other news,” he said in the same even tones, laying his letters down. “Nymwegen has fallen.”
“Sir!”
“Yesterday,” continued William.