“Then will you leave some soldiery behind Your Highness, for I have a fear of the unchecked violence of the mob. The Gevangenpoort hath been twice attacked, and I think my brother’s life in danger.”
“Count Tilly’s dragoons shall remain to keep order in the Hague.”
“I thank Your Highness.”
Mechanically John de Witt fastened together the clasps of his black velvet mantle.
The Prince still stood, his aristocratic figure in the dove grey in keeping with the rich, quiet, and sombre room.
They were looking at each other, and there was more in the eyes of each than any words could have touched.
M. de Witt moved slowly towards the door.
“I cannot leave you—” he said in a low voice, and with a simple air of grandeur, “you who have been my pupil—I cannot leave you for ever without saying how I shall ever pray for your prosperity, and that, though you cannot be more zealous, you may be more fortunate than I have been in serving our country.
“You have begun very nobly, may God keep you faithful to your ideals, guard you from your enemies, and make you worthy of the trust reposed in you by this unhappy land. Good-night, my lord.”