“I believe he will—let him only get the message in time——”
“Ah—‘let him’—that is his skill, to cloak himself with ‘ifs’ and ‘lets’.…”
“You never liked him,” said John de Witt, “but I cannot believe him vile.”
Cornelius dragged himself painfully into a sitting posture.
“Hark to that!”
He listened to the manifold and surging noises of the crowd without, held only at bay by Tilly’s dragoons.
“Some devil’s arts have struck this fury out of them.”
“It is Michael Tichelaer,” answered John, staring from the window.
“Michael Tichelaer! a boor!—who is behind Michael Tichelaer?”