rom
William of Orange, and was manifesting an energy in the cause of tyranny
which was sufficiently unscrupulous. Many people who had been deceived by
his more generous demonstrations in former times, tried to persuade
themselves that he was acting a part. Noircarmes, however--and no man was
more competent to decide the question distinctly--expressed his entire
confidence in Egmont's loyalty. Margaret had responded warmly to his
eulogies, had read with approbation secret letters from Egmont to
Noircarmes, and had expressed the utmost respect and affection for "the
Count." Egmont had also lost no time in writing to Philip, informing him
that he had selected the most eligible spot for battering down the
obstinate city of Valenciennes, regretting that he could not have had the
eight or ten military companies, now at his disposal, at an earlier day,
in which case he should have been able to suppress many tumults, but
congratulating his sovereign that the preachers were all fugitive, the
reformed religion suppressed, and the people disarmed. He assured the
King that he would neglect no effort to prevent any renewal of the
tumults, and expressed the hope that his Majesty would be satisfied with
his conduct, notwithstanding the calumnies of which the times were full.

Noircarmes meanwhile, had unmasked his batteries, and opened his fire
exactly according to Egmont's suggestions.

The artillery played first upon what was called the "White Tower," which
happened to bear this ancient, rhyming inscription:

"When every man receives his own,
And justice reigns for strong and weak,
Perfect shall be this tower of stone,
And all the dumb will learn to speak."

"Quand chacun sera satisfaict,
Et la justice regnera,
Ce boulevard sera parfaict,
Et--la muette parlera."--Valenciennes MS.

For some unknown reason, the rather insipid quatrain was tortured into a
baleful prophecy. It was considered very ominous that the battery should
be first opened against this Sibylline tower. The chimes, too, which had
been playing, all through the siege, the music of Marot's sacred songs,
happened that morning to be sounding forth from every belfry the
twenty-second psalm: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

It was Palm Sunday, 23d of March. The women and children were going
mournfully about the streets, bearing green branches in their hands, and
praying upon their knees, in e