But James manifested small disposition to melt in the fervour of the Advocate’s eloquence.  He answered with a few cold commonplaces.  Benignant but extremely cautious, he professed goodwill enough to the States but quite as much for Spain, a power with which, he observed, he had never quarrelled, and from which he had received the most friendly offices.  The archdukes, too, he asserted, had never been hostile to the realm, but only to the Queen of England.  In brief, he was new to English affairs, required time to look about him, but would not disguise that his genius was literary, studious, and tranquil, and much more inclined to peace than to war.

In truth, James had cause to look very sharply about him.  It required an acute brain and steady nerves to understand and to control the whirl of parties and the conflict of interests and intrigues, the chameleon shiftings of character and colour, at this memorable epoch of transition in the realm which he had just inherited.  There was a Scotch party, favourable on the whole to France; there was a Spanish party, there was an English party, and, more busy than all, there was a party—­not Scotch, nor French, nor English, nor Spanish—­that un-dying party in all commonwealths or kingdoms which ever fights for itself and for the spoils.

France and Spain had made peace with each other at Vervins five years before, and had been at war ever since.

Nothing could be plainer nor more cynical than the language exchanged between the French monarch and the representative of Spain.  That Philip III.—­as the Spanish Government by a convenient fiction was always called—­was the head and front of the great Savoy-Biron conspiracy to take Henry’s life and dismember his kingdom, was hardly a stage secret.  Yet diplomatic relations were still preserved between the two countries, and wonderful diplomatic interviews had certainly been taking place in Paris.

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