Mansfeld had never been close in his friendship, and always a warm upholder of the Government; Berty was little other than Margaret's spy; it was to Egmont the Prince addressed himself.
"You have come to persuade me," he said gently. "Speak, Count, speak."
Egmont flushed; despite his loyalty and his now firm attachment to Spanish rule, he always felt uneasy in the presence of the man who had once so influenced him and who now was divided from him by an ever-widening gulf.
He repeated the arguments of Berty, endeavouring to enforce them by the weight of his own belief and his own friendship for the Prince.
He spoke verbosely, emphasizing his meaning with many illustrations and continually praising the King.
A bee buzzed in the window-pane the while, evading Berty's furtive fingers; it made as much impression on the Prince as did the words of Lamoral Egmont.
But he listened civilly, keeping his dark eyes steadily on the speaker's face; but when at last Egmont had finished, he threw back his head with a little laugh and spoke a few words that tossed all the Count's formal phrases back at him as useless.
"Oh, Egmont!" he cried. "I did not ride from Antwerp to be persuaded, but to persuade. What you have said can never move me. Would that what I say could move you!"
Egmont made no reply; he glanced at Berty, and slightly shrugged his shoulders.
But Mansfeld spoke.