Ambassador Tassis had walked with lofty port into Henry’s cabinet, disdaining to salute any of the princes of the blood or high functionaries of state in the apartments through which he passed, and with insolent defiance had called Henry to account for his dealing with the Dutch rebels.

“Sire, the king my master finds it very strange,” he said, “that you still continue to assist his rebels in Holland, and that you shoot at his troops on their way to the Netherlands.  If you don’t abstain from such infractions of his rights he prefers open war to being cheated by such a pretended peace.  Hereupon I demand your reply.”

“Mr. Ambassador,” replied the king, “I find it still more strange that your master is so impudent as to dare to make such complaints—­he who is daily making attempts upon my life and upon this State.  Even if I do assist the Hollanders, what wrong is that to him?  It is an organized commonwealth, powerful, neighbourly, acknowledging no subjection to him.  But your master is stirring up rebellion in my own kingdom, addressing himself to the princes of my blood and my most notable officers, so that I have been obliged to cut off the head of one of the most beloved of them all.  By these unchristian proceedings he has obliged me to take sides with the Hollanders, whom I know to be devoted to me; nor have I done anything for them except to pay the debts I owed them.  I know perfectly well that the king your master is the head of this conspiracy, and that the troops of Naples were meditating an attack upon my kingdom.  I have two letters written by the hand of your master to Marshal Biron, telling him to trust Fuentes as if it were himself, and it is notorious that Fuentes has projected and managed all the attempts to assassinate me.  Do you, think you have a child to deal with?  The late King of Spain knew me pretty well.  If this one thinks himself wiser I shall let him see who I am.  Do you want peace or war?  I am ready for either.”

The ambassador, whose head had thus been so vigorously washed—­as Henry expressed it in recounting the interview afterwards to the Dutch envoy, Dr. Aerssens—­stammered some unintelligible excuses, and humbly begged his Majesty not to be offended.  He then retired quite crest-fallen, and took leave most politely of everybody as he went, down even to the very grooms of the chambers.

“You must show your teeth to the Spaniard,” said Henry to Aerssens, “if you wish for a quiet life.”

Here was unsophisticated diplomacy; for the politic Henry, who could forgive assassins and conspirators, crowned or otherwise, when it suited his purpose to be lenient, knew that it was on this occasion very prudent to use the gift of language, not in order to conceal, but to express his thoughts.

“I left the king as red as a turkey-cock,” said Tassis, as soon as he got home that morning, “and I was another turkey-cock.  We have been talking a little bit of truth to each other.”