As always Alva was at the Prince's heels, skirmishing incessantly with the outposts, but always withdrawing his main army when William advanced for an engagement.
"This will end soon, one way or another," said the Prince. "Either we have a general action, or all is lost for this campaign."
He spoke in his tent at St. Trond to Louis and Hoogstraaten; outside were the camp noises and the slash of an autumn shower against the canvas.
Louis, almost ill with the irritation and fury of being constantly out-manœuvred, of seeing the army slip from them while Alva quietly waited, half-crazed with the thought of his own powerlessness to avert the miserable failure of the campaign, made no answer, and Hoogstraaten could only gnash his teeth.
But William remained patient; perhaps he had not expected any more glorious results from this desperate venture.
Quietly he stated the position.
"It is impossible to pay the men another penny, or even to feed them much longer. I heard to-day that Alva has dismantled all the mills in this district. There will, of course, be a mutiny—it is quite impossible to keep them together beyond November, which they take as the beginning of the winter."
"There must be an action!" cried Louis passionately. "There must be, if I ride into Alva's camp and challenge him to his face!"
And the Count shook with rage at the thought of this army, got together with such infinite sacrifices, being miserably disbanded.
But his impatience did not help, William would have reminded him of the results of his fiery recklessness at Jemmingen.