But notwithstanding all the talent, the caution, and the mystery of Philip and his minister, there was among the nobles one man who saw through all.  This individual, endowed with many of the highest attributes of political genius, and pre-eminently with judgment, the most important of all, entered fearlessly into the contest against tyranny—­despising every personal sacrifice for the country’s good.  Without making himself suspiciously prominent, he privately warned some members of the states of the coming danger.  Those in whom he confided did not betray the trust.  They spread among the other deputies the alarm, and pointed out the danger to which they had been so judiciously awakened.  The consequence was a reply to Philip’s demand; in vague and general terms, without binding the nation by any pledge; and a unanimous entreaty that he would diminish the taxes, withdraw the foreign troops, and intrust no official employments to any but natives of the country.  The object of this last request was the removal of Granvelle, who was born in Franche-Comte.

Philip was utterly astounded at all this.  In the first moment of his vexation he imprudently cried out, “Would ye, then, also bereave me of my place; I, who am a Spaniard?” But he soon recovered his self-command, and resumed his usual mask; expressed his regret at not having sooner learned the wishes of the states; promised to remove the foreign troops within three months; and set off for Zealand, with assumed composure, but filled with the fury of a discovered traitor and a humiliated despot.

A fleet under the command of Count Horn, the admiral of the United Provinces, waited at Flessingue to form his escort to Spain.  At the very moment of his departure, William of Nassau, prince of Orange and governor of Zealand, waited on him to pay his official respects.  The king, taking him apart from the other attendant nobles, recommended him to hasten the execution of several gentlemen and wealthy citizens attached to the newly introduced religious opinions.  Then, quite suddenly, whether in the random impulse of suppressed rage, or that his piercing glance discovered William’s secret feelings in his countenance, he accused him with having been the means of thwarting his designs.  “Sire,” replied Nassau, “it was the work of the national states.”—­“No!” cried Philip, grasping him furiously by the arm; “it was not done by the states, but by you, and you alone!”—­Schiller.  The words of Philip were:  “No,no_los_estados_; mavos,_vos,_vos!_” Vos thus used in Spanish is a term of contempt, equivalent to toi in French.

This glorious accusation was not repelled.  He who had saved his country in unmasking the designs of its tyrant admitted by his silence his title to the hatred of the one and the gratitude of the other.  On the 20th of August, Philip embarked and set sail; turning his back forever on the country which offered the first check to his despotism; and, after a perilous voyage, he arrived in that which permitted a free indulgence to his ferocious and sanguinary career.