and almost incredible irony, reassured the Countess by the information
that, on the morrow, her husband was certainly to be released. With this
ambiguous phrase, worthy the paltering oracles of antiquity, the wretched
woman was obliged to withdraw. Too soon afterward the horrible truth of
the words was revealed to her--words of doom, which she had mistaken for
consolation.

An hour before midnight the Bishop of Ypres reached Egmont's prison.
The Count was confined in a chamber on the second story of the Brood-huis,
the mansion of the crossbowmen's guild, in that corner of the building
which rests on a narrow street running back from the great square.
He was aroused from his sleep by the approach of his visitor. Unable to
speak, but indicating by the expression of his features the occurrence of
a great misfortune, the Bishop, soon after his entrance, placed the paper
given to him by Alva in Egmont's hands. The unfortunate noble thus
suddenly received the information that his death-sentence had been
pronounced, and that its execution was fixed for the next morning.
He read the paper through without flinching, and expressed astonishment
rather than dismay at its tidings. Exceedingly sanguine by nature, he
had never believed, even after his nine months' imprisonment, in a fatal
termination to the difficulties in which he was involved. He was now
startled both at the sudden condemnation which had followed his lingering
trial, and at the speed with which his death was to fulfil the sentence.
He asked the Bishop, with many expressions of amazement, whether pardon
was impossible; whether delay at least might not be obtained? The
prelate answered by a faithful narrative of the conversation which had
just occurred between Alva and himself. Egmont, thus convinced of his
inevitable doom, then observed to his companion, with exquisite courtesy,
that, since he was to die, he rendered thanks both to God and to the Duke
that his last moments were to be consoled by so excellent a father