rest."

After the news of the reduction of the city, he again expressed
gratification, but in rather cold language. "From such obstinate
people," said he, "not more could be extracted than has been extracted;
therefore the capitulation is satisfactory." What more he wished to
extract it would be difficult to say, for certainly the marrow had been
extracted from the bones, and the dead city was thenceforth left to
moulder under the blight of a foreign garrison and an army of Jesuits.
"Perhaps religious affairs will improve before long," said Philip.
They did improve very soon, as he understood the meaning of improvement.
A solitude of religion soon brought with it a solitude in every other
regard, and Antwerp became a desert, as Sainte Aldegonde had foretold
would be the case.

The King had been by no means so calm, however, when the intelligence
of the capitulation first reached him at Madrid. On the contrary, his
oldest courtiers had never seen him exhibit such marks of hilarity.

When he first heard of the glorious victory at Lepanto, his countenance
had remained impassive, and he had continued in the chapel at the
devotional exercises which the messenger from Don John had interrupted.
Only when the news of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew first reached him,
had he displayed an amount of cheerfulness equal to that which he
manifested at the fall of Antwerp. "Never," said Granvelle, "had the
King been so radiant with joy as when he held in his hand the despatches
which announced the capitulation." The letters were brought to him after
he had retired to rest, but his delight was so great that he could not
remain in his bed. Rushing from his chamber, so soon as he had read
them, to that of his dearly-beloved daughter, Clara Isabella, he knocked