He turned his head away with a sick look.

“Madame, who are you?”

“I am his wife.”

She looked fixedly at the Prince.

“You are his murderer.”

He put his fingers to his lips and stared at the dead hand.

“Is this the hand of John de Witt?—I clasped it yesterday——”

“It is my husband’s hand.”

His great eyes travelled to her face.

“You are unsettled in your mind, lady. Have you no better shelter than this?”