Walloons, Germans, and Lorrainers, will give me an effective total of 30,000 soldiers.  Of this I give you my word as a gentleman.  Go, then, Andrew de Loo,” continued the Duke, “write to her sacred Majesty, that I desire to make peace; and to serve her faithfully; and that I shall not change my mind, even in case of any great success, for I like to proceed rather by the ways of love than of rigour and effusion of bleed.”

“I can assure you, oh, most serene Duke,” replied Andrew, “that the most serene Queen is in the very same dispositions with yourself.”

“Excellent well then,” said the Duke, “we shall come to an agreement at once, and the sooner the deputies on both sides are appointed the better.”

A feeble proposition was then made, on the part of the peace-loving Andrew, that the hostile operations against Sluy’s should be at once terminated.  But this did not seem so clear to the most serene Duke.  He had gone to great expense in that business; and he had not built bridges, erected forts, and dug mines, only to abandon them for a few fine words, Fine words were plenty, but they raised no sieges.  Meantime these pacific and gentle murmurings from Farnese’s camp had lulled the Queen into forgetfulness of Roger Williams and Arnold Groenevelt and their men, fighting day and night in trench and mine during that critical midsummer.  The wily tongue of the Duke had been more effective than his batteries in obtaining the much-coveted city.  The Queen obstinately held back her men and money, confident of effecting a treaty, whether Sluys fell or not.  Was it strange that the States should be distrustful of her intentions, and, in their turn, become neglectful of their duty?

And thus summer wore into autumn, Sluys fell, the States and their governor-general were at daggers-drawn, the Netherlanders were full of distrust with regard to England, Alexander hinted doubts as to the Queen’s sincerity; the secret negotiations, though fertile in suspicions, jealousies, delays, and such foul weeds, had produced no wholesome fruit, and the excellent De Loo became very much depressed.  At last a letter from Burghley relieved his drooping spirits.  From the most disturbed and melancholy man in the world, he protested, he had now become merry and quiet.  He straightway went off to the Duke of Parma, with the letter in his pocket, and translated it to him by candlelight, as he was careful to state, as an important point in his narrative.  And Farnese was fuller of fine phrases than ever.

“There is no cause whatever,” said he, in a most loving manner, “to doubt my sincerity.  Yet the Lord-Treasurer intimates that the most serene Queen is disposed so to do.  But if I had not the very best intentions, and desires for peace, I should never have made the first overtures.  If I did not wish a pacific solution, what in the world forced me to do what I have done?  On the contrary, it is I that have reason to suspect the other parties with their long delays, by which they have made me lose the best part of the summer.”