in the French quarter, her Majesty’s government being supposed to be secretly preparing an invasion of the obedient Netherlands across the French frontier, in combination, not with the Bearnese, but with Henry III.  So much in the dark were even the most astute politicians.  “I can’t feel satisfied in this French matter,” said the President:  “we mustn’t tickle ourselves to make ourselves laugh.”  Moreover, there was no self-deception nor self-tickling possible as to the unmitigated misery of the obedient Netherlands.  Famine was a more formidable foe than Frenchmen, Hollanders, and Englishmen combined; so that Richardot avowed that the “negotiation would be indeed holy,” if it would restore Holland and Zeeland to the King without fighting.  The prospect seemed on the whole rather dismal to loyal Netherlanders like the old leaguing, intriguing, Hispamolized president of the privy council.  “I confess,” said he plaintively, “that England needs chastisement; but I don’t see how we are to give it to her.  Only let us secure Holland and Zeeland, and then we shall always find a stick whenever we like to beat the dog.”

Meantime Andrea de Loo had been bustling and buzzing about the ears of the chief counsellors at the English court during all the early spring.  Most busily he had been endeavouring to efface the prevalent suspicion that Philip and Alexander were only trifling by these informal negotiations.  We have just seen whether or not there was ground for that suspicion.  De Loo, being importunate, however—­“as he usually was,” according to his own statement—­obtained in Burghley’s hand a confirmation, by order of the Queen, of De Loo’s—­letter of the 26th December.  The matter of religion gave the worthy merchant much difficulty, and he begged Lord Buckhurst, the Lord Treasurer, and many other counsellors, not to allow this point of toleration to ruin the whole affair; “for,” said he, “his Majesty will never permit any exercise of the reformed religion.”

At last Buckhurst sent for him, and in presence of Comptroller Croft, gave him information that he had brought the Queen to this conclusion:  firstly, that she would be satisfied with as great a proportion of religious toleration for Holland, Zeeland, and the other United Provinces, as his Majesty could concede with safety to his conscience and his honour; secondly, that she required an act of amnesty; thirdly, that she claimed reimbursement by Philip for the money advanced by her to the States.

Certainly a more wonderful claim was never made than this—­a demand upon an absolute monarch for indemnity for expenses incurred in fomenting a rebellion of his own subjects.  The measure of toleration proposed for the Provinces—­the conscience, namely, of the greatest bigot ever born into the world—­was likely to prove as satisfactory as the claim for damages propounded by the most parsimonious sovereign in Christendom.  It was, however, stipulated that the nonconformists of Holland and Zeeland, who should be forced into exile, were to have their property administered by papist trustees; and further, that the Spanish inquisition was not to be established in the Netherlands.  Philip could hardly demand better terms than these last, after a career of victory.  That they should be offered now by Elizabeth was hardly compatible with good faith to the States.