While the council was held among his captains, the duke was lying on a couch and listening, not to the advice of the admiral, but to the whispers of Aurilly.  This man, by his cowardly compliances, his base flatteries, and his continual assiduities, had secured the favor of the prince.  With his lute, his love messages, and his exact information about all the persons and all the intrigues of the court—­with his skillful maneuvers for drawing into the prince’s net whatever prey he might wish for, he had made a large fortune, while he remained to all appearance the poor luteplayer.  His influence was immense, because it was secret.

Joyeuse, seeing the duke talking to Aurilly, stopped short.  The duke, who had, after all, been paying more attention than he seemed to do, asked him what was the matter.  “Nothing, monseigneur; I am only waiting until your highness is at liberty to listen to me.”

“Oh! but I do listen, M. de Joyeuse.  Do you think I cannot listen to two people at once, when Caesar dictated seven letters at a time?”

“Monseigneur,” said Joyeuse, with a glance at the musician, “I am no singer to need an accompaniment when I speak.”

“Very good, duke; be quiet, Aurilly.  Then you disapprove of a coup de main on Antwerp?”—­“Yes, monseigneur.”

“I adopted this plan in council, however.”

“Therefore, monseigneur, I speak with much hesitation, after so many distinguished captains.”

And Joyeuse, courtier-like, bowed to all.  Many voices were instantly raised to agree with the admiral.

“Comte de St. Aignan,” said the prince to one of his bravest colonels, “you are not of the opinion of M. de Joyeuse?”

“Yes, monseigneur, I am.”

“Oh!  I thought as you made a grimace—­”

Every one laughed but Joyeuse, who said, “If M. de St. Aignan generally gives his advice in that manner, it is not very polite, that is all.”

“M. de Joyeuse,” replied St. Aignan, “his highness is wrong to reproach me with an infirmity contracted in his service.  At the taking of Cateau-Cambresis I received a blow on the head, and since that time my face is subject to nervous contractions, which occasion those grimaces of which his highness complains.  This is not an excuse that I give you, M. de Joyeuse; it is an explanation,” said the count, proudly.

“No, monsieur,” said Joyeuse, “it is a reproach that you make, and you are right.”

The blood mounted to the face of Duc Francois.

“And to whom is this reproach addressed?” said he.

“To me, probably, monseigneur.”

“Why should St. Aignan reproach you, whom he does not know?”

“Because I believed for a moment that M. de St. Aignan cared so little for your highness as to counsel you to assault Antwerp.”

“But,” cried the prince, “I must settle my position in the country.  I am Duke of Brabant and Count of Flanders, in name, and I must be so in reality.  This William, who is gone I know not where, spoke to me of a kingdom.  Where is this kingdom?—­in Antwerp.  Where is he?—­probably in Antwerp also; therefore we must take Antwerp, and we shall know how we stand.”