Close to the candles stood a blue bowl of sweet-peas and roses.
Sideways to the window was a bed curtained in patterned chintz, and on it lay an elderly man whose firm face was turned expectantly towards the door.
“Mynheer Triglandt!” exclaimed the Prince, casting down his hat and gloves.
“Your Highness!”
The words came with a deep note of joy and passion; the sick man’s face utterly changed into an expression of rapture.
“Ah, why did I not know before?” William exclaimed. He came to the bedside and pulled back the curtains.
M. Triglandt held out his thin hands and grasped the Prince’s.
“I have not been here long.… Arnheim was sacked … they killed most.…”
He tried to kiss the Stadtholder’s hands. William prevented him and dropped on his knees beside the low bed.