The treaty of peace with Spain gave no pleasure to the English public.  There was immense enthusiasm in London at the almost simultaneous fall of Sluys, but it was impossible for the court to bring about a popular demonstration of sympathy with the abandonment of the old ally and the new-born affection for the ancient enemy.  “I can assure your mightinesses,” wrote Caron, “that no promulgation was ever received in London with more sadness.  No mortal has shown the least satisfaction in words or deeds, but, on the contrary, people have cried out openly, ’God save our good neighbours the States of Holland and Zeeland, and grant them victory!’ On Sunday, almost all the preachers gave thanks from their pulpits for the victory which their good neighbours had gained at Sluys, but would not say a word about the peace.  The people were admonished to make bonfires, but you may be very sure not a bonfire was to be seen.  But, in honour of the victory, all the vessels in St. Catharine’s Docks fired salutes at which the Spaniards were like to burst with spite.  The English clap their hands and throw their caps in the air when they hear anything published favourable to us, but, it must be confessed, they are now taking very dismal views of affairs.  ‘Vox populi vox Dei.’”

The rejoicing in Paris was scarcely less enthusiastic or apparently less sincere than in London.  “The news of the surrender of Sluys,” wrote Aerasens, “is received with so much joy by small and great that one would have said it was their own exploit.  His Majesty has made such demonstrations in his actions and discourse that he has not only been advised by his council to dissemble in the matter, but has undergone reproaches from the pope’s nuncius of having made a league with your Mightinesses to the prejudice of the King of Spain.  His Majesty wishes your Mightinesses prosperity with all his heart, yea so that he would rather lose his right arm than see your Mightinesses in danger.  Be assured that he means roundly, and we should pray God for his long life; for I don’t see that we can expect anything from these regions after his death.”

It was ere long to be seen, however, roundly as the king meant it, that the republic was to come into grave peril without causing him to lose his right arm, or even to wag his finger, save in reproach of their Mightinesses.

The republic, being thus left to fight its battles alone, girded its loins anew for the conflict.  During the remainder of the year 1604, however, there were no military operations of consequence.  Both belligerents needed a brief repose.

The siege of Ostend had not been a siege.  It was a long pitched battle between the new system and the old, between absolutism and the spirit of religious, political and mercantile freedom.  Absolutism had gained the lists on which the long duel had been fought, but the republic had meantime exchanged that war-blasted spot for a valuable and commodious position.