As soon as the three great nobles, the most powerful grandees in the Kingdom, were recognized, they were hailed with shouts of welcome and surrounded by a crowd of intoxicated youngsters, who took their presence as a good augury for the newly named party.
"No, no," said the Prince, putting aside the beakers that were being forced upon him. "I have come but for the length of a miserere—we are here for the Seigneur Hoogstraaten."
That nobleman rose, glad of an excuse to retire, and Brederode, turning, saw the three new-comers.
"Ah, Highness!" he cried, staggering to his feet. "Will you not come and drink the health of the beggars? Be seated—here on my right"—then looking at Hoorne with whom he had recently quarrelled, he added, "and the Admiral also! I did not look to see your sober face at any feast of mine, Count Hoorne!"
At this taunt the Admiral, who had been glancing at the saturnalia with genuine disgust and sincere vexation, flushed to his bald head, and fixed his dark eyes menacingly on the speaker.
"I have come to save a better man than you, Count Brederode," he answered, "from the consequences of your folly. Folly? Is it not more than folly—is it not near madness and treason?"
The dark blue eyes of Brederode blazed.
"Think you your caution will save you, Count Hoorne? I tell you Philip will spare you as little as he will spare any man in this room, and Granvelle holds you as damned as any heretic who ever ate a sausage on a Good Friday!"
The sinister truth of these rude words made Egmont blench, but the Admiral received them with gloomy scorn; he felt quite secure in his own loyalty.
William, assailed by cries of "Long live the beggars!" the meaning of which was utterly unknown to him, made his way through the revellers to where Brederode stood.