“Wherefore such an order? Why guard the prison?” cried the Orangists.
“Stop,” replied the Count, “there you at once ask me more than I can tell you. I was told, ‘Guard the prison,’ and I guard it. You, gentlemen, who are almost military men yourselves, you are aware that an order must never be gainsaid.”
“But this order has been given to you that the traitors may be enabled to leave the town.”
“Very possibly, as the traitors are condemned to exile,” replied Tilly.
“But who has given this order?”
“The States, to be sure!”
“The States are traitors.”
“I don’t know anything about that!”
“And you are a traitor yourself!”
“I?”
“Yes, you.”
“Well, as to that, let us understand each other gentlemen. Whom should I betray? The States? Why, I cannot betray them, whilst, being in their pay, I faithfully obey their orders.”
As the Count was so indisputably in the right that it was impossible to argue against him, the mob answered only by redoubled clamour and horrible threats, to which the Count opposed the most perfect urbanity.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “uncock your muskets, one of them may go off by accident; and if the shot chanced to wound one of my men, we should knock over a couple of hundreds of yours, for which we should, indeed, be very sorry, but you even more so; especially as such a thing is neither contemplated by you nor by myself.”
“If you did that,” cried the burghers, “we should have a pop at you, too.”
