Not influenced, as it appears, except on one point, by the advice of this second ghostly confessor, Balthazar came to Tournay, and held council with a third—­the celebrated Franciscan, Father Gery—­by whom he was much comforted and strengthened in his determination.  His next step was to lay the project before Parma, as the “excellent and learned” Jesuit at Treves had advised.  This he did by a letter, drawn up with much care, and which he evidently thought well of as a composition.  One copy of this letter he deposited with the guardian of the Franciscan convent at Tournay; the other he presented with his own hand to the Prince of Parma.  “The vassal,” said he, “ought always to prefer justice and the will of the king to his own life.”  That being the case, he expressed his astonishment that no man had yet been found to execute the sentence against William of Nassau, “except the gentle Biscayan, since defunct.”  To accomplish the task, Balthazar observed, very judiciously, that it was necessary to have access, to the person of the Prince—­wherein consisted the difficulty.  Those who had that advantage, he continued, were therefore bound to extirpate the pest at once, without obliging his Majesty to send to Rome for a chevalier, because not one of them was willing to precipitate himself into the venomous gulf, which by its contagion infected and killed the souls and bodies, of all poor abused subjects, exposed to its influence.  Gerard avowed himself to have been so long goaded and stimulated by these considerations—­so extremely nettled with displeasure and bitterness at seeing the obstinate wretch still escaping his just judgment—­as to have formed the design of baiting a trap for the fox, hoping thus to gain access to him, and to take him unawares.  He added—­without explaining the nature of the trap and the bait—­that he deemed it his duty to lay the subject before the most serene Prince of Parma, protesting at the same time that he did not contemplate the exploit for the sake of the reward mentioned in the sentence, and that he preferred trusting in that regard to the immense liberality of his Majesty.

Parma had long been looking for a good man to murder Orange, feeling—­as Philip, Granvelle, and all former governors of the Netherlands had felt—­ that this was the only means of saving the royal authority in any part of the provinces.  Many unsatisfactory assassins had presented themselves from time to time, and Alexander had paid money in hand to various individuals—­Italians, Spaniards, Lorrainers; Scotchmen, Englishmen, who had generally spent the sums received without attempting the job.  Others were supposed to be still engaged in the enterprise; and at that moment there were four persons—­each unknown to the others, and of different nations—­in the city of Delft, seeking to compass the death of William the Silent.  Shag-eared, military, hirsute ruffians—­ex-captains of free companies and such marauders—­were daily offering their services; there was no lack of them, and they had done but little.  How should Parma, seeing this obscures undersized, thin-bearded, runaway clerk before him, expect pith and energy from him?  He thought him quite unfit for an enterprise of moment, and declared as much to his secret councillors and to the King.