“Say?” replies the English statesman, who is great enough and generous enough to admit the wisdom of [[119]]another, “I say he has given you the wisest advice you have ever received. You make the Spanish ambassador happy by telling him you will refuse admission or succor to the Gueux, and by doing so you send a thunderbolt straight at Alva and Spain, stronger than you could unless you waged open war with England’s powers at land and sea, for which we are not ready—”
“But it will come in good time, my lord,” remarks Elizabeth. Then summoning a page, she says: “Give order for the two envoys of the Gueux to enter.”
Then Van Tresslong and De la Mark enter to receive what they think is their despair, but in time will be their glory.
Her Majesty of England, standing upon a dais, receives very haughtily the two adventurers, whose doublets are shabby with hard usage, but whose swords are long, and whose gaunt faces give evidence of poverty and half rations.
“You are here, gentlemen,” she says, “to petition me—for what?”
“Provisions to keep us from starving,” answers the admiral.
“No provisions!”
“Good heavens! In the name of charity. We had supposed you enemy of Alva.”
“I am the friend of Alva. No provisions! What else?”
“And water—we have only three days’ water in our vessels. Permit us at least that which humanity never refused to thirsty sailor—water!”