of Countess Aremberg, with whom she had come to condole for the death of the Count, when the order for the immediate execution of her own husband was announced to her.  She hastened to the presence of the Governor-General.  The Princess Palatine, whose ancestors had been emperors, remembered only that she was a wife and a mother.  She fell at the feet of the man who controlled the fate of her husband, and implored his mercy in humble and submissive terms.  The Duke, with calm and almost incredible irony, reassured the Countess by the information that, on the morrow, her husband was certainly to be released.  With this ambiguous phrase, worthy the paltering oracles of antiquity, the wretched woman was obliged to withdraw.  Too soon afterward the horrible truth of the words was revealed to her—­words of doom, which she had mistaken for consolation.

An hour before midnight the Bishop of Ypres reached Egmont’s prison.  The Count was confined in a chamber on the second story of the Brood-huis, the mansion of the crossbowmen’s guild, in that corner of the building which rests on a narrow street running back from the great square.  He was aroused from his sleep by the approach of his visitor.  Unable to speak, but indicating by the expression of his features the occurrence of a great misfortune, the Bishop, soon after his entrance, placed the paper given to him by Alva in Egmont’s hands.  The unfortunate noble thus suddenly received the information that his death-sentence had been pronounced, and that its execution was fixed for the next morning.  He read the paper through without flinching, and expressed astonishment rather than dismay at its tidings.  Exceedingly sanguine by nature, he had never believed, even after his nine months’ imprisonment, in a fatal termination to the difficulties in which he was involved.  He was now startled both at the sudden condemnation which had followed his lingering trial, and at the speed with which his death was to fulfil the sentence.  He asked the Bishop, with many expressions of amazement, whether pardon was impossible; whether delay at least might not be obtained?  The prelate answered by a faithful narrative of the conversation which had just occurred between Alva and himself.  Egmont, thus convinced of his inevitable doom, then observed to his companion, with exquisite courtesy, that, since he was to die, he rendered thanks both to God and to the Duke that his last moments were to be consoled by so excellent a father confessor.

Afterwards, with a natural burst of indignation, he exclaimed that it was indeed a cruel and unjust sentence.  He protested that he had never in his whole life wronged his Majesty; certainly never so deeply as to deserve such a punishment.  All that he had done had been with loyal intentions.  The King’s true interest had been his constant aim.  Nevertheless, if he had fallen into error, he prayed to God that his death might wipe away his misdeeds, and that his