“Our friends without make converse difficult,” he remarked.
M. Bentinck laughed. The prospect of the present triumph had driven his disappointment at the Prince’s cold dismissal of the English envoys into the background of his thoughts. He was young enough to carry himself haughtily, and kept one hand on his sword-hilt and another on his yellow moustaches, with a fine martial swagger.
Towards the end of the repast the crowd drove back the burgher captains stationed on guard at the door.
M. Van Beveren could contain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet.
“For God’s sake, Your Highness——!”
The Prince glanced at him sideways.
“What is the matter, Mynheer?”
The burgomaster rose also.
“Sir,” he cried in agitation.
“Well?” asked William calmly, setting down his glittering tankard.