“One might rouse them.”
“It would be a task—well, I call it impossible.”
William coughed, and fixed his bright eyes on the empty hearth.
“You are weary,” said Bentinck tenderly, coming nearer.
“I am very weary and sick to-night,” answered the Prince faintly; “in body and soul, William, I can get no rest. At times—despair cannot be always held at bay—my head hath a horrible inclination to ache, and I think I have the fever still. Yet, it will pass; I pray you do not notice me.”
“Console yourself, Sir, that your prospects are more hopeful than for some time.”
The Prince made no answer, and M. Bentinck regarded him anxiously.
“I would have you consider well what you say to these envoys,” he added earnestly. “Your terms will never be listened to … Louis is a conqueror.… By making yourself King of Holland, you save it, and revenge yourself on the republicans.”
“I have considered that,” answered the Prince.
“Well,” returned M. Bentinck, “you have always been reserved, even with me, Highness, and you take advice of no man … but I make bold to tell you that only a foolish mind would refuse these offers the French and English make you.”