“His Highness may be called the lever with which His Majesty will heave the United Provinces on to the map of France,” he remarked.
“You seem very sure of him,” said Florent, “and I believe that you are right. But … it is curious in all the discussions concerning this Prince, whose name we all use alike to serve our ends—among all the factions that clamour for William of Orange—is there never one to think of him as other than the tool of France? Does it never enter the thoughts of any that he might prove as honest as M. de Witt—as faithful to his country?”
“This is not an age of heroes,” smiled St. Croix; and added, half insolently, “Do you regret the fact, Monsieur?”
“M. de Witt is a hero.”
“M. de Witt is a saint and a fool,” replied the Frenchman. “And the Prince of Orange is neither.”
“Some must believe in him.…”
“As an instrument to gratify their ambition. M. Beverningh, M. de Zuylestein, and Prince John Maurice believe in him certainly—after that fashion.”
“I do not mean them—but these people in the street—Jacob Van der Graef——”
“A silly young man,” remarked St. Croix, lighting his pipe. “Yes, perhaps those people do believe in the glory of the old dynasty. But things have changed since the days of William the Taciturn; as I say, there are no heroes nowadays.”