William Bentinck answered angrily—
“Sir, you throw away your own advantage wilfully! M. de Buckingham was right—there is nothing but despair before all of us.”
The Prince sat immovable, composed, with an absent look in his eyes, gazing out of the window at the camp.
M. Bentinck, exasperated, went violently from the room.
William glanced round as the door banged, then sat still, taking his aching head in his hand.
There was a thoughtful, absorbed expression on his pale face, a relaxing of the usual disdainful curve of his lips that gave him an air of gentleness.
He was not long alone.
Count Struym and M. Heenvliet entered with more eagerness than ceremony.
“Sir,” said the first gentleman, “here are two burgomasters, two burgher captains, and others, come from Dordt——”
“Dordt?” repeated the Prince; this town, the residence of the de Witts, had always been considered particularly republican.