In the empty fireplace the brass andirons gleamed golden, in the centre of the large round wooden table stood four brass candlesticks, a snuffer and tray.
At this table sat Lamoral Egmont, his head resting on his hand.
The nobility of his figure, the extreme richness of his dress, the gallant handsomeness of his face, ill accorded with the clean, neat, and humble room.
He wore violet and silver and a mantle of a tawny orange colour that fell over the brick floor; his charming head was framed by a ruff of silver gauze; his weapons were many and elaborate; by him on the table lay his hat, a pistol, his gloves and whip.
On the other side of the table sat Count Mansfeld, an elderly man of no particular presence, handsomely attired in black and gold; while within the window embrasure was the insignificant figure of Secretary Berty.
The Prince gently closed the door and stood smiling at all three.
His slight figure, plainly habited in a brown riding suit, soft high boots, and a falling ruff; his small head, held erect without pride, and valiantly without arrogance; his dark face, with the regular features and laughing eyes—the whole man, so composed, so pleasant, so unfathomable, seemed to strangely impress the three who waited for him—to impress them almost with uneasiness.
Lamoral Egmont rose, filling the room with his magnificence.
"We meet strangely, Prince," he said.
William greeted all with even courtesy, then took his seat at the round table, placing his hands, half concealed by the linen ruffles, before him on the smooth surface as he had placed them in the council chamber at Brussels when the letters from Philip had been read enforcing the decrees of the Council of Trent.