“If you should die childless with your work incomplete—would you be punished then?”
William winced, and caught at M. Bentinck’s sleeve.
“They would have lived for me, Madame.”
Her proud poise relaxed; she fell into the chair the Prince had risen from.
“God, God, God!” she said dully. “We must submit to Him—why did He not save Cornelius?”
M. Zuylestein peered over the table.
“The hand of the Grand Pensionary,” he shuddered.
Maria de Witt slipped to her knees.
“They tortured him!” she cried, clasping her hands, “and my balm is all spent——”