"Meanwhile," said William, "the Inquisitors are burning, strangling, torturing in every town in the States."
Margaret flushed angrily.
"Those who are thus punished are miserable blasphemers—would Your Highness speak for a man who remained covered while the Host passed, or one who mocked a statue of the Virgin?"
"I would not burn them quick," replied William, "nay, I would not touch their lives at all, nor yet their properties."
"Your Highness has of late been dangerously clement towards these heretics," remarked the Duchess.
"It is but natural," replied the Prince, with a smile, "since most of those dearest to me are heretics. But I do not speak from clemency but from policy when I advise Your Grace to toleration."
Again the secretary made that little movement; William could imagine the letter he would write to Philip.
"Toleration?" cried the Duchess angrily; "do you advise me to accord toleration to heretics?"
"Yes," said William, and he looked at the Spaniard sitting quiet in his corner, for he felt he was speaking not to Margaret but to Philip, and that his words, spoken in this chamber of the Brabant palace, would soon be known in that cell of the Escorial where the laborious King sat painstakingly annotating his lengthy and innumerable dispatches.
The Duchess knew not what to answer; all her policy of flattery and conciliation was overwhelmed by the rage and contempt she felt for William's views, which vexed her the more as she vaguely knew they were, from the point of policy, right.