I reveal them to any man."

These were mysterious words, and the mystery is said to have been
explained; for it would seem that the eminent preacher was not so
entirely reticent among his confidential friends as before the public.
Uytenbogaert--so ran the tale--in the course of his conversation with the
condemned murderer, John of Paris, expressed a natural surprise that
there should have been no soldiers on guard in the court on the evening
when the crime was committed and the body subsequently removed. The valet
informed him that he had for a long time been empowered by the Prince to
withdraw the sentinels from that station, and that they had been
instructed to obey his orders--Maurice not caring that they should be
witnesses to the equivocal kind of female society that John of Paris was
in the habit of introducing of an evening to his master's apartments. The
valet had made use of this privilege on the night in question to rid
himself of the soldiers who would have been otherwise on guard.

The preacher felt it his duty to communicate these statements to the
Prince, and to make perhaps a somewhat severe comment upon them. Maurice
received the information sullenly, and, as soon as Uytenbogaert was gone,
fell into a violent passion, throwing his hat upon the floor, stamping
upon it, refusing to eat his supper, and allowing no one to speak to him.
Next day some courtiers asked the clergyman what in the world he had been
saying to the Stadholder.

From that time forth his former partiality for the divine, on whose
preaching he had been a regular attendant, was changed to hatred; a
sentiment which lent a lurid colour to subsequent events.

The attempts of the Spanish party by chicane or by force to get