favourable circumstances.  In accordance with his own instructions, his envoy, Des Pruneaux, had been busily employed in the States, arranging the terms of a treaty which should be entirely satisfactory.  It had been laid down as an indispensable condition that Holland and Zeeland should unite in the offer of sovereignty, and, after the expenditure of much eloquence, diplomacy, and money, Holland and Zeeland had given their consent.  The court had been for some time anxious and impatient for the arrival of the deputies.  Early in December, Des Pruneaux wrote from Paris to Count Maurice, urging with some asperity, the necessity of immediate action.

“When I left you,” he said, “I thought that performance would follow promises.  I have been a little ashamed, as the time passed by, to hear nothing of the deputies, nor of any excuse on the subject.  It would seem as though God had bandaged the eyes of those who have so much cause to know their own adversity.”

To the States his language was still more insolent.  “Excuse me, Gentlemen,” he said, “if I tell you that I blush at hearing nothing from you.  I shall have the shame and you the damage.  I regret much the capture of De Teligny, and other losses which are occasioned by your delays and want of resolution.”

Thus did the French court, which a few months before had imprisoned, and then almost ignominiously dismissed the envoys who came to offer the sovereignty of the Provinces, now rebuke the governments which had ever since been strenuously engaged in removing all obstacles to the entire fulfillment of the King’s demands.  The States were just despatching a solemn embassy to renew that offer, with hardly any limitation as to terms.

The envoys arrived on January 3rd, 1585, at Boulogne, after a stormy voyage from Brielle.  Yet it seems incredible to relate, that, after all the ignominy heaped upon the last, there was nothing but solemn trifling in reserve for the present legation; although the object of both embassies was to offer a crown.  The deputies were, however, not kept in prison, upon this occasion, nor treated like thieves or spies.  They were admirably lodged, with plenty of cooks and lacqueys to minister to them; they fared sumptuously every day, at Henry’s expense, and, after they had been six weeks in the kingdom, they at last succeeded in obtaining their first audience.

On the 13th February the King sent five “very splendid, richly-gilded, court-coach-waggons” to bring the envoys to the palace.  At one o’clock they arrived at the Louvre, and were ushered through four magnificent antechambers into the royal cabinet.  The apartments through which they passed swarmed with the foremost nobles, court-functionaries, and ladies of France, in blazing gala costume, who all greeted the envoys with demonstrations of extreme respect:  The halls and corridors were lined with archers, halbardiers, Swiss guards, and grooms “besmeared with gold,” and it was thought that all this rustle of fine feathers would be somewhat startling to the barbarous republicans, fresh from the fens of Holland.