The secretary obeyed.
When he had finished the Ruard stole a glance at his wife, who sat with averted face; he seemed to be listening to the impatient and angry cries without, that, mingled with snatches of St. Aldegonde’s hymn, and curses on the Grand Pensionary’s name, came clearly through the curtained window.
“Cannot that be worded less positively?” he asked slowly.
“Mynheer, it is impossible,” answered the secretary.
“We came for your signature, not for your amendments,” remarked the soldier.
“I would rather be killed in my bed than sign,” answered the Ruard, with a flush of colour into his face.
Hoogewerf stepped forward threateningly.
“I have sworn an oath to the Perpetual Edict,” said M. de Witt, “and I will keep it—even if you strike off my head with the sword you have there at your side.”
“I have not come as an assassin,” replied the captain.