William’s affliction grieved him as sorely as if it had fallen upon himself, and the blow that had struck the cause of freedom was a heavy one, perhaps never to be overcome.

Yet he only granted himself a short time to indulge in grief, for the point in question now was to summon all the nation’s strength to repair what was lost, avert by vigorous acts the serious consequences which threatened to follow Louis’s defeat, and devise fresh means to carry on the war.

He paced up and down the room with frowning brow, inventing measures and pondering over plans.  His wife had opened the door, and now remained standing on the threshold, but he did not notice her until she called his name and advanced towards him.

In her hand she held part of the flowers the boy had brought, another portion adorned her bosom.

“Take it,” she said, offering him the bouquet.  “Adrian, dear boy, gathered them, and you surely know what they mean.”

He willingly took the messengers of spring, raised them to his face, drew Maria to his breast, pressed a long kiss upon her brow, and then said gloomily: 

“So this is the celebration of the first anniversary of our wedding-day.  Poor wife!  The Glipper was not so far wrong; perhaps it would have been wiser and better for me not to bind your fate to mine.”

“How can such thoughts enter your mind, Peter!” she exclaimed reproachfully.

“Louis of Nassau has fallen,” he murmured in a hollow tone, “his army is scattered.”

“Oh-oh!” cried Maria, clasping her hands in horror, but he continued: 

“It was our last body of troops.  The coffers are empty, and where we are to obtain new means, and what will happen now—­this, this—­Leave me, Maria, I beg you.  If we don’t profit by the time now, if we don’t find the right paths now, we shall not, cannot prosper.”

With these words he threw the bouquet on the table, hastily seized a paper, looked into it, and, without glancing at her, waved his right hand.

The young wife’s heart had been full, wide open, when she entered the room.  She had expected so much that was beautiful from this hour, and now stood alone in the apartment he still shared with her.  Her arms had fallen by her side; helpless, mortified, wounded, she gazed at him in silence.

Maria had grown up amid the battle for freedom, and knew how to estimate the grave importance of the tidings her husband had received.  During his wooing he had told her that, by his side, she must expect a life full of anxiety and peril, yet she had joyously gone to the altar with the brave champion of the good cause, which had been her father’s, for she had hoped to become the sharer of his cares and struggles.  And now?  What was she permitted to be to him?  What did he receive from her?  What had he consented to share with her, who could not feel herself a feeble woman, on this, the anniversary of their wedding-day.