But Cornelius de Witt was immovable; he turned away his face on the pillow and was silent.
Maria de Witt dropped the red curtain of the bed, and, unseen by her husband, drew the paper from the secretary’s hand.
With her finger on her lips she silenced them, and withdrawing to the back of the chamber hastily effaced the two letters—“V.C.”
“You are very scrupulous, Mynheer,” said Captain Hoogewerf.
“It seems I am the only one in Dordt,” returned the Ruard, “who remembers his duty.”
Captain Hoogewerf clapped on his hat.
“You will be sorry, some day, that you spoke so recklessly,” he said, and strode out of the room, followed by the soldiers and the secretary.
Maria de Witt leant heavily against the bed-post, pressing her handkerchief to her reddened eyes.
A loud, triumphant, and insulting shout told the joy of the crowd when they heard that the Ruard had submitted, and with a mighty turmoil, and sound of singing and cheering, they swept away up the street to the Peacock Inn.