“You think I am afraid of His Highness.”
Sir William answered with the ready courtesy that took all appearance of sincerity from his speech—
“All Europe knows that you are afraid of nothing—yet, for Holland’s sake, you might tremble a little now.”
The cloud did not lift from the Grand Pensionary’s noble face. He put out his hand and rested it on the edge of one of the bookshelves, and his delicate fingers tapped restlessly on the polished wood.
“Diplomacy as well as friendship dictates frankness to me,” he answered in his slow, stately, yet gentle way,—“nor is there much I could conceal from such an observer as yourself, Sir William. The Orange party have wearied me, have thwarted me, have alarmed me; I find them unreasonable, powerful and dangerous—I speak of the party, not of the Prince.”
“Why not of him?”
“I have no right. He has ever shown himself quiet, tractable, obedient,” was the quick reply. “We have never had to complain of his behaviour.”
“Yet he is the focus for much discontent,” smiled the Englishman, “the magnet for much ambition.”
The Grand Pensionary smiled also, uplifting his melancholy eyes.
“His Highness is but seventeen, immersed in study, brought up as a republican—I think he is even ignorant of these agitations in his name. He could not live more quietly.”