The Stadtholder raised his head and once more surveyed the Assembly.
“My name is mentioned here—not my friends but my enemies desire for me this infamous honour.… France and England have had my answer—what do you say, my lords?”
He sat down, still looking at them, grave, reserved, and stern.
The States remained dumb and helpless; they dare not decide. The utter bitterness and hopelessness of their situation robbed them of their courage and their resolution. They felt themselves already slaves; they saw their country already a province of France. They were mute, and in most eyes the tears glittered.
Gaspard Fagel rose. He pressed for the opinion of His Highness.… The States flung themselves on the wisdom and valour of His Highness … the people had elected him to be their Captain and guide.
“Most noble lords,” answered the Stadtholder, “your decision is required.”
They joined in persuading him to give his advice; they turned to him desperately as the one spark of hope in all the black prospect.
He rose again.
The sun was streaming through the window at his side, and made a star in his cuirass; the little silver-gilt chains round his ankles, that held his spurs over the soft riding-boots, gave a pleasant clink as he moved.