The gaoler left in silence.
Cornelius took up a book with an air of unconcern; it was a volume of French plays, but he did not look at the pages; his eyes could not leave his brother, who was standing by the barred window gazing out on to the Plaats.
“What are they doing?” asked Cornelius after a while.
“Gathering in great numbers—armed, all armed,” answered John. “There comes Tilly and his men.”
He could not repress a little sigh of relief as the guards, three hundred strong, swept through the crowd and took up their position before the prison.
A cry of “Long live His Highness!” broke from the people, and “Down with the de Witts!”
“We are of the same opinion!” some of the soldiery shouted back.
“They too are disaffected,” muttered John.
“But Count Tilly is a brave and loyal officer,” said Cornelius.
Each was very careful not to show the slightest sign of inward uneasiness; they did not dare speak on intimate subjects for fear they should betray themselves.