"I do not know," was wrung from Rénèe's bitter heart. "Your Highness is orthodox. Your Highness conforms. There were great hopes of you—I, among the first, believed; but now—the time goes—and—you do nothing!"
Then, seeing his expression of marvel, her face became burning with painful red, and she turned her head quickly away.
"It must be to Your Highness as if your dog should turn to speak to you," she said humbly. "I entreat you to pass on and forget."
"No," replied William, with perfect graciousness. "It is not my way to either pass on or forget. Tell me what you mean."
"I cannot," said Rénèe. "My heart is very full, and prompts me to foolishness. I am a heretic, and therefore life cannot be pleasant to me."
"But you are safe here," answered the Prince gently.
That stung her into again forgetting who he was and her own insignificance.
"That makes it more horrible!" she cried, and she turned towards him. Her flushed and glowing face was very beautiful in its utter unconsciousness of either beauty or allure. "I am safe, but others better than I die every day—die horribly—burned alive, buried alive, tortured to death. The Netherlands are a shambles, Seigneur; the smoke of human sacrifice fouls the air. And it will be worse."
"Ay," said William quietly. "If the King enforce the findings of the Council of Trent, it will be worse."
"He will not dare!" exclaimed the girl, "for that would mean to exterminate the Netherlanders."