"It is all terrible," answered Hélène d'Espinoy in a shaken voice, "and these people have power—they will fight, they will resist. It will not be so easy to subdue them."
"Easy enough for Alva," thought William. "The Duchess is only helpless because she is without money and without men."
"Easy to subdue," he repeated aloud; and went on to tell Madame Montigny of the camp-meetings at Tournay, where the Reformers were six to one against the Catholics, and when the Regent sent orders to the trained bands to arrest the worshippers, it was found that all of them—the crossbowmen of St. Maurice, the archers of St. Sebastian, the sword-players of St. Christopher—were themselves heretics, who eagerly attended the preaching of Ambrose Wille, the famous disciple of John Calvin, and new come from Geneva.
"Since they are so much in earnest, these people," said Montigny's wife, "might not His Majesty allow them their faith and their preaching?"
"His Majesty will no more ever allow the preaching than the people will ever give it up; and there is the great tragedy—these few poor people and the greatest king in the world!"
Montigny now left the tennis court and came towards the two under the shadow of the beech tree.
His face, which had the dark colouring, the look of reserve and strength of his brother, Count Hoorne, but none of that nobleman's joyless gravity, flushed with a look of love as he glanced at his wife. It was to the Prince he spoke.
"Tennis is a childish sport for these open days of spring—we should be trying hound and falcons in the open campaign."
He put his arm lovingly round the Prince's shoulder and drew him aside. Hoogstraaten, the intimate friend of both, followed them.
Hélène d'Espinoy glanced round for the Princess, and Rénèe, with the watchfulness of one in charge of a puppet whose strings must be pulled at a given signal, touched her mistress on the shoulder and roused her attention.