“You must not despair, Mynheer,” he said gently; “too many despair.”
“I shall not—if Your Highness does not forsake us.”
The Prince rose.
“What of your former rulers?” he asked.
“They can do nothing with the people. M. de Witt is ill—loathed.”
“Mynheer,” answered William, “the States dealt hardly with me—I have been virtually a prisoner all my life—it is strange they should come to me now.”
“It may be, but Your Highness’ voice is the only one that can make itself heard,” said M. Beuningen in a tone of despair. “The people will turn to you.… If in vain … God have mercy upon us.”
“You credit me with great powers.… Do I not hear it said that the man who pits himself against France must be mad?”
Coenraad Beuningen looked round sharply—
“Or a hero,” he said.