“And what purpose would that serve?”

“To intimidate us, and induce us to admit them amicably.”

The stranger looked again at the Prince of Orange, who listened to all this in the most careless manner, which almost amounted to disdain.

“However,” said another voice, “some fancied they could distinguish preparations for attack in the camp this evening.”

“Mere suspicions,” said the burgomaster; “I examined the camp myself with an excellent spy-glass.  The men were preparing for sleep, and the duke was dining in his tent.”

The unknown threw a new glance at the prince, and fancied that this time he gave a slight smile.

“Gentlemen,” said the unknown, “you are in error; a regular assault is preparing against you, and your plans, however good, are incomplete.”

“But, monseigneur—­”

“Incomplete in this, that you expect an attack, and have prepared to meet it.”

“Certainly.”

“Well, it is you who will make the attack, not wait for it, if you will trust to me.”—­“Ah!” cried William, “that is something like speaking.”

“At this moment,” said the stranger, who saw that he might reckon on the prince’s support, “the ships of M. de Joyeuse are getting ready.”

“How do you know that, monseigneur?” cried many voices together.

“I know it,” replied he.

A murmur of doubt was half uttered, but the stranger caught it.

“Do you doubt it?” asked he, in the tone of a man accustomed to control all fears, prejudices, and self-loves.

“We do not doubt it if your highness says it; but if you will permit us to observe—­”

“Speak.”

“That if it were so we should have had tidings of it.”

“How so?”—­“By our spies.”

CHAPTER LXIV.

Monseigneur.

At this moment another man entered the hall, and came forward respectfully.

“Ah! it is you, my friend,” said the burgomaster.

“Myself, monsieur,” replied the man.

“Monseigneur,” said the burgomaster, “it is the man whom we sent to reconnoiter.”

At the word “monseigneur,” addressed not to the Prince of Orange, the new comer made a movement of surprise and joy, and advanced quickly to see better who was designated by this title.  He was one of those Flemish sailors, of whom the type is so recognizable, being marked, a square head, blue eyes, short neck, and broad shoulders; he crushed in his large hands his woolen cap, and as he advanced he left behind him a line of wet, for his clothes were dripping with water.

“Oh! here is a brave man who has swum back,” said monseigneur, looking at the man with his accustomed air of authority.

“Yes, monseigneur, yes; and the Scheldt is broad and rapid,” said the sailor, eagerly.

“Speak, Goes, speak,” said monseigneur, knowing how a sailor would prize being thus called by his name.