"Egmont, believe none of them," he said. "The King loves us not—he has those about him who do not allow him to forget—keep out of his power, eschew his flatteries, trust neither him nor his creatures."
But Philip's blandishments were still too fresh in the Count's ears, he was too secure in the consciousness of his own loyalty to give more than a passing heed to any warning, much as he was impressed by the force of the Prince's stronger character. He reassured himself by recalling the Regent's favour, the King's promises of benefits and rewards; and he was a man hampered with debts, with daughters to dower presently—a man who needed magnificence, splendour, the atmosphere of Courts,—a man ductile under the flattery of the great.
"You are too prudent, too cautious," he answered, with a vehemence to cover his momentary hesitation and alarm. "I cannot overstep loyalty—you sail near to defiance of His Majesty's authority."
"If the King forces the Inquisition, what will you do?" asked William suddenly and abruptly.
Egmont flushed and stammered.
"I? I must stand by my duty—it is true these heretics must be outrooted. I am treating them with severity——"
"You will stand by the King," said the Prince briefly.
"What else?" demanded the Count. "I am satisfied His Majesty will not push matters past prudence."
"Do you call it prudence if he insists on measures being forced on the country which will mean every inhabitant being put to the sword or flying overseas?—that will mean the ruin of every trade, every industry, every business?"
"Nay," said Egmont, "the heretics will come back to the true Church."