He held his left hand on the great basket-work hilt of his sword, and his right on the scarf across his breast.
“Your Noble Mightinesses ask for my advice. I will say to you what I know you all have in your hearts.
“There is but one answer to these terms—the coldest, most contemptuous refusal.
“Who but an abject wretch would subscribe to such conditions while he had breath in his body?
“By Heaven! I would rather be torn to pieces than consent to any such humiliation and shame.”
A stir ran through the Assembly.
“I do not despair,” continued the Stadtholder passionately. “Though we seem reduced to desperate extremity, yet is our case not hopeless if we make our answer to France sword in hand.… To die honourably is better than a miserable safety.… It is not possible for us to be the slaves of France. My lords, you will reject these shameful conditions.”
They sat mute. They had placed their fortunes between his hands; he was the master of their destiny—the destiny of the United Provinces.
Most of them were learned men of much experience who had been long in office; all of them were older than the man they looked to, by many years.
He and they could remember when he was a mere name in the State, the prisoner of Their Noble Mightinesses. Some of them had slighted, all ignored him.