Madam de Witt dared resist no longer; she heard the furious din without, she saw the immovable face of Captain Hoogewerf, and, through her open door, the scarlet coats of the soldiers in the corridor.
She did not think her husband would sign; she made the anguished resolve that she must persuade him to it—even against her conscience.
“I will take the paper to him,” she said, with the instinct to soften the humiliation of her husband’s consent.
But Captain Hoogewerf saw her motive.
“No, Madam, it must be in our presence.”
She passed in silence to the door, the sunlight on her dark velvet gown, the deep lace collar on her shoulders not more white than her face.
The secretary followed her reluctantly; he hated his task; he had been overawed. Hoogewerf, however, an ardent Orangist, had no compunction.
He bade his soldiers follow him.
“Is this necessary?” asked Maria de Witt proudly.
“Such are my orders, Madam.”