Louis replied soberly—
"If I am called, I am willing to serve—to the death."
"I know," said William, "I know."
Louis stood doubtful, distressed, his brown fingers pulling nervously at the edge of the fine tablecloth.
"Would you not be willing for me to take this charge upon myself?" he asked earnestly and imploringly.
The Prince did not reply; his face seemed drained of blood beneath the brown skin, his dark eyes were black with the dilation of the pupils.
"And you, you?" urged Louis. "What will you do? Bow the neck to Philip?"
He moved away from the table, crushing his hands together.
William turned now and spoke; he made an effort with his words. Choosing them carefully, arranging them exactly, often faltering in the endeavour to force his wide and far-reaching thoughts into speech; in all he said was great patience, great sincerity, great gentleness.
"You must not think me cold. Indeed I am not cold. I know Spain and Philip better than you—better than your friends. I know his power, his resources, his persistency—above all his power! 'Tis the King of half the world. And now he has spoken, he will not go back from his word. Do you think the Regent will long serve his turn? Before this present crisis she will fail utterly. A dull woman. Philip will send Alva and an army—the finest army in the world, Louis. It was Alva who advised this stern decree. I know that—a great soldier, the Duke of Alva, a loyal Catholic—he will come. Nothing will stop Philip now. No laws, no charters, no promises—he has condemned to death the Netherlands, and he will not fail to send the executioner."