The King, in reporting the substance of this conversation to Aerssens, intimated his conviction that they were only wishing in Brussels to gain time; that they were waiting for letters from Spain, which they were expecting ever since the return of Conde’s secretary from Milan, whither he had been sent to confer with the Governor, Count Fuentes.  He said farther that he doubted whether the Princess would go to Breda, which he should now like, but which Conde would not now permit.  This he imputed in part to the Princess of Orange, who had written a letter full of invectives against himself to the Dowager—­Princess of Conde which she had at once sent to him.  Henry expressed at the same time his great satisfaction with the States-General and with Barneveld in this affair, repeating his assurances that they were the truest and best friends he had.

The news of Conde’s ceremonious visit to Leopold in Julich could not fail to exasperate the King almost as much as the pompous manner in which he was subsequently received at Brussels; Spinola and the Spanish Ambassador going forth to meet him.  At the same moment the secretary of Vaucelles, Henry’s ambassador in Madrid, arrived in Paris, confirming the King’s suspicions that Conde’s flight had been concerted with Don Inigo de Cardenas, and was part of a general plot of Spain against the peace of the kingdom.  The Duc d’Epernon, one of the most dangerous plotters at the court, and deep in the intimacy of the Queen and of all the secret adherents of the Spanish policy, had been sojourning a long time at Metz, under pretence of attending to his health, had sent his children to Spain, as hostages according to Henry’s belief, had made himself master of the citadel, and was turning a deaf ear to all the commands of the King.

The supporters of Conde in France were openly changing their note and proclaiming by the Prince’s command that he had left the kingdom in order to preserve his quality of first prince of the blood, and that he meant to make good his right of primogeniture against the Dauphin and all competitors.

Such bold language and such open reliance on the support of Spain in disputing the primogeniture of the Dauphin were fast driving the most pacifically inclined in France into enthusiasm for the war.

The States, too, saw their opportunity more vividly every day.  “What could we desire more,” wrote Aerssens to Barneveld, “than open war between France and Spain?  Posterity will for ever blame us if we reject this great occasion.”

Peter Pecquius, smoothest and sliest of diplomatists, did his best to make things comfortable, for there could be little doubt that his masters most sincerely deprecated war.  On their heads would come the first blows, to their provinces would return the great desolation out of which they had hardly emerged.  Still the Archduke, while racking his brains for the means of accommodation, refused, to his honour, to wink at any violation of the law of nations, gave