It was evident that in the struggle between Philip and William for Egmont, Philip had won; the Stadtholder of Flanders stood firm to Church and King; he had been bought, as Granvelle had always said he could be, by a little flattery, a few promises.
But still the charm and power of the Prince held him, he regretted the old confidence, the old alliance.
"What will Your Highness do?" he asked a little wistfully.
The Prince smiled and, turning towards him, pressed his hand.
"Whatever I do, I think I shall stand alone," he answered. "You will remain my friend though, Lamoral?" he added, and his dark eyes were eloquent with affection.
"Always," replied Egmont. "Come what will, I do not leave my friends so easily, Prince."
"We will talk no more of politics when we are together, and so we shall keep our conversation sweet; the times are difficult and bloody, and it is well to forget them," replied William.
They spoke together a while on indifferent topics, their hawks, their hounds, their debts, the last extravagance of Brederode, Montigny's approaching marriage, the arrogance of the young Prince of Parma—Margaret's son—and the severe piety of his bride—the Portuguese Princess.
Only when Egmont was leaving did William refer again to the first topic of their conversation.
"Is Count Hoorne of your mind?" he asked, as he stood with his guest on the great stairs. "About trusting Spain?" he explained.