Only a few days previously three suspicious-looking strangers had demanded to see the Ruard, and on being refused, on account of the lateness of the hour, had attempted to force a way in, and had only been repulsed by the promptitude of the servant in calling help. Madam de Witt firmly believed that this was a murderous plot—a counterpart to that to which her brother-in-law had fallen a victim, and her fine courage could not subdue the terror inspired by the surroundings of hate, malice, and fury against which her helpless husband had no weapon.
To-day she had listened to the shouts that proclaimed a restoration, and showed that the magistrates, their sole protection, had been overawed by the people, and that no one in Dordt had dared to stand firm to the Government of John de Witt.
She could only hope that her husband might be forgotten in the general excitement, and with this quieted her cruel anxiety.
But when the servant came to tell her that a vast, armed crowd was advancing down the street she knew her hopes had been illusions. Her proud spirit, that had always supported her husband’s dangers with high courage, sank before what she was called upon to face.
With yells, cries, and shouts for the new Stadtholder, on came the crowd, and surged about the door of the house. Let the town secretary get the signature of M. de Witt or they would enter and try for themselves.
Leaving some of the civic guard at the door as a concession to law and order, Orent Muys the secretary, the captain, and three of his soldiers entered the house.
Maria de Witt, pale and cold, outwardly calm, received them in the dining-room.
Her black eyes were full of tears, but she kept them fixed resolutely on the secretary.
The two men uncovered and bowed.