t Archduke
Maximilian of Austria, the Duke of Savoy, who was expecting a great
winning card in the game of luck of his changeful life, the Knights of
the Golden Fleece, and the highest of the Netherland nobles, the
councillors, the governor, and the principal military officers also had
places upon the stage.

Barbara knew every name that Hannibal mentioned. It seemed as if she saw
the broken-down Emperor, his son Philip with his head haughtily thrown
back, his favourite, the omnipotent minister, Ruy Gomez, the Prince of
Eboli, who with his coal-black hair and beard would have resembled
Quijada if, instead of the soldierly frankness of the major-domo, an
uneasy, questioning expression had not lurked in his dark eyes, the
brilliant Bishop of Arras, who had again so kindly placed her under
obligation to him, and the Frieslander Viglius, who had dropped into her
soul the wormwood whose bitterness she still tasted, and whose motto,
"The life of mortals is a watch in the night," seemed to flash from his
green eyes. Not a single woman had been admitted to the distinguished
assembly of the States-General, the city magistrates, and illustrious
invited guests, who as spectators sat on benches and chairs opposite to
the stage, and this placed the kindness of Granvelle, whom the Netherland
dignitaries were said to detest, in a still brighter light.

The ceremony had been opened by the great speech of Philibert of
Brussels, which the young Maltese described as a masterpiece of the
finest rhetorical art. At the close of this address a solemn silence
pervaded the hall, for the Emperor Charles had risen to take leave of his
faithful subjects.

One might have heard a leaf fall, a spicier walk, as, supported by the
arm of William of Orange, he raised the notes of his address and began to
read.

At this information Barbara remembered how Maurice of Saxony had
supported the Emperor at the May festival at Prebrunn. William of Orange,
too, was still young. She had often seen him, and what deep earnestness
rested on his noble brow! how open and pure was the glance of his clear
eyes, yet how penetrating and inexorably keen it could also be! She had
noticed this at the assembly of the Knights of the Golden Fleece, when he
looked at King Philip with bitter hate or certainly with dislike and
scorn. Was this man chosen to avenge Charles's sins upon his son and
heir? Could the Prince of Orange be destined to deal with the new king as
Maurice o