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iBrain
Surviving the Technological
Alteration of the Modern Mind
Gary Small, M.D.
and Gigi Vorgan
This book is dedicated to Rachel and Harry,
our own Digital Natives,
and all the future brains of the world.
CONTENTS

Acknowledgments vii

One YOUR BRAIN IS EVOLVING RIGHT NOW 1

It’s All in Your Head 4
Young Plastic Brains 6
Natural Selection 9
Honey, Does My Brain Look Fat? 11
High-Tech Revolution and the Digital Age 12
Your Brain on Google 14
Techno-Brain Burnout 17
The New, Improved Brain 20
Taking Control of Your Brain’s Evolution 22

Two BRAIN GAP: TECHNOLOGY

DIVIDING GENERATIONS 23
Digital Natives 24
Digital Immigrants 40
Coming Together 46

Three ADDICTED TO TECHNOLOGY 47

Anyone Can Get Hooked 50
Email Junkies 54
Virtual Gaming—Bet You Can’t Play Just One 56
Online Porn Obsession 58
Las Vegas at Your Fingertips 59
Shop Till You Drop 60
Getting Help 61
iv Contents

Four TECHNOLOGY AND BEHAVIOR:

ADHD, INDIGO CHILDREN, AND BEYOND 63
Driven to Distraction 64
Multitasking Brains 67
Indigo Children 69
Can TV Trigger Autism? 71
Mystery Online Illness 74
Cybersuicide 76
I’m Too Techy for My Brain 77

Five HIGH-TECH CULTURE: SOCIAL,

POLITICAL, AND ECONOMIC IMPACT 79
Multiple Choice 79
Infinite Information 81
The Electronic Marketplace 84
Webonomics 85
Social Networking and Entertainment 89
Women vs. Men Online 91
Fractured Families 92
Love at First Site 95
Technology and Privacy 97
Cyber Crime 99
I’d Rather Be Blogging 101
Online Politics 102
Uploading Your iBrain 104

Six BRAIN EVOLUTION: WHERE DO YOU

STAND NOW? 105
Human Contact Skills 105
Technology Skills 112

Seven RECONNECTING FACE TO FACE 115

That Human Feeling 117
Tech-Free Training of the Brain 120
Social Skills 101 123
 Contents v

High-Tech Addiction 146

Maintaining Your Off-Line Connections 147

Eight THE TECHNOLOGY TOOLKIT 149

Making Technology Choices 150
You’ve Got Email 152
Instant Messaging Right Now! 158
Search Engines: Beyond Basic Google 158
Text Messaging: Short and Sweet 160
Mobile Phones: Smaller Is Not Always Better 161
A Menu of Hand-Held Devices 163
Entering the Blogosphere 165
Internet Phoning and Video Conferencing 166
Digital Entertainment: Swapping Hi-Fi for Wi-Fi 167
Online Safety and Privacy 168
Cyber Medicine 172
Brain Stimulation: Aerobicize Your Mind 178

Nine BRIDGING THE BRAIN GAP:

TECHNOLOGY AND THE FUTURE BRAIN 181
Understanding the Gap 181
Social Skills Upgrade for Digital Immigrants 184
The Future Brain 186

Appendix 191

1 High-Tech Glossary 191

2 Text Message Shortcuts and Emoticons 199

3 Additional Resources 205

Notes 209

Index 231
About the Authors

Other Books by Gary Small, M.D.

Credits

Cover

Copyright

About the Publisher

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We wish to thank the many scientists and innovators whose work

inspired this book, as well as our friends and colleagues who contributed
their energy and insights, including Rachel Champeau, Kim Dower,
Sterling Franken-Steffen, Stephanie Oudiz, Pauline Spaulding, and Cara
and Rob Steinberg. We are also indebted to our talented artist and friend
Diana Jacobs, for her creative drawings included in this book. We also
appreciate the Parvin Foundation and Drs. Susan Bookheimer and
Teena Moody for supporting and contributing to our new study, “Your
Brain on Google.”
iBrain would not have been possible without the support and input
from our editor extraordinaire, Mary Ellen O’Neill, and our longtime
agent and good friend, Sandra Dijkstra. We also want to thank our chil-
dren, Rachel and Harry, as well as our parents, Dr. Max and Gertrude
Small, and Rose Vorgan and Fred Weiss, for their love and encouragement.
Gary Small, M.D.
Gigi Vorgan
One

YOUR BRAIN IS
EVOLVING RIGHT NOW

The people who are crazy enough to think they

can change the world are the ones who do.
Steve Jobs, CEO of Apple

You’re on a plane packed with other business people, reading your elec-
tronic version of the Wall Street Journal on your laptop while downloading
files to your BlackBerry and organizing your PowerPoint presentation for
your first meeting when you reach New York. You relish the perfect sym-
metry of your schedule, to-do lists, and phone book as you notice a
woman in the next row entering little written notes into her leather-bound
daily planner book. You remember having one of those . . . What? Like a
zillion years ago? Hey lady! Wake up and smell the computer age.
You’re outside the airport now, waiting impatiently for a cab along
with a hundred other people. It’s finally your turn, and as you reach for
the taxi door a large man pushes in front of you, practically knocking you
over. Your briefcase goes flying, and your laptop and BlackBerry splatter
into pieces on the pavement. As you frantically gather up the remnants
of your once perfectly scheduled life, the woman with the daily planner
book gracefully steps into a cab and glides away.

The current explosion of digital technology not only is changing the

way we live and communicate but is rapidly and profoundly altering
our brains. Daily exposure to high technology—computers, smart
phones, video games, search engines like Google and Yahoo—stimulates
brain cell alteration and neurotransmitter release, gradually strength-
ening new neural pathways in our brains while weakening old ones.
Because of the current technological revolution, our brains are evolving
right now—at a speed like never before.
2 iBrain

Besides influencing how we think, digital technology is altering how

we feel, how we behave, and the way in which our brains function. Al-
though we are unaware of these changes in our neural circuitry or
brain wiring, these alterations can become permanent with repetition.
This evolutionary brain process has rapidly emerged over a single gen-
eration and may represent one of the most unexpected yet pivotal ad-
vances in human history. Perhaps not since Early Man first discovered
how to use a tool has the human brain been affected so quickly and so
dramatically.
Television had a fundamental impact on our lives in the past cen-
tury, and today the average person’s brain continues to have exten-
sive daily exposure to TV. Scientists at the University of California,
Berkeley, recently found that on average Americans spend nearly
three hours each day watching television or movies, or much more
time spent than on all leisure physical activities combined. But in
the current digital environment, the Internet is replacing television
as the prime source of brain stimulation. Seven out of ten American
homes are wired for high-speed Internet. We rely on the Internet
and digital technology for entertainment, political discussion, and
even social reform as well as communication with friends and
co-workers.
As the brain evolves and shifts its focus toward new technological
skills, it drifts away from fundamental social skills, such as reading fa-
cial expressions during conversation or grasping the emotional context
of a subtle gesture. A Stanford University study found that for every hour
we spend on our computers, traditional face-to-face interaction time
with other people drops by nearly thirty minutes. With the weakening of
the brain’s neural circuitry controlling human contact, our social inter-
actions may become awkward, and we tend to misinterpret, and even
miss subtle, nonverbal messages. Imagine how the continued slipping of
social skills might affect an international summit meeting ten years
from now when a misread facial cue or a misunderstood gesture could
make the difference between escalating military conflict or peace.
The high-tech revolution is redefining not only how we communi-
cate but how we reach and influence people, exert political and social
change, and even glimpse into the private lives of co-workers, neigh-
bors, celebrities, and politicians. An unknown innovator can become
 Your Brain Is Evolving Right Now 3

an overnight media magnet as news of his discovery speeds across the

Internet. A cell phone video camera can capture a momentary misstep
of a public figure, and in minutes it becomes the most downloaded
video on YouTube. Internet social networks like MySpace and Face-
book have exceeded a hundred million users, emerging as the new
marketing giants of the digital age and dwarfing traditional outlets
such as newspapers and magazines.
Young minds tend to be the most exposed, as well as the most sensi-
tive, to the impact of digital technology. Today’s young people in their
teens and twenties, who have been dubbed Digital Natives, have never
known a world without computers, twenty-four-hour TV news, Inter-
net, and cell phones—with their video, music, cameras, and text mes-
saging. Many of these Natives rarely enter a library, let alone look
something up in a traditional encyclopedia; they use Google, Yahoo,
and other online search engines. The neural networks in the brains of
these Digital Natives differ dramatically from those of Digital Immi-
grants: people—including all baby boomers—who came to the digital/
computer age as adults but whose basic brain wiring was laid down
during a time when direct social interaction was the norm. The extent
of their early technological communication and entertainment in-
volved the radio, telephone, and TV.
As a consequence of this overwhelming and early high-tech stimula-
tion of the Digital Native’s brain, we are witnessing the beginning of a
deeply divided brain gap between younger and older minds—in just one
generation. What used to be simply a generation gap that separated
young people’s values, music, and habits from those of their parents
has now become a huge divide resulting in two separate cultures. The
brains of the younger generation are digitally hardwired from toddler-
hood, often at the expense of neural circuitry that controls one-on-one
people skills. Individuals of the older generation face a world in which
their brains must adapt to high technology, or they’ll be left behind—
politically, socially, and economically.
Young people have created their own digital social networks, in-
cluding a shorthand type of language for text messaging, and studies
show that fewer young adults read books for pleasure now than in
any generation before them. Since 1982, literary reading has declined
by 28 percent in eighteen- to thirty-four-year-olds. Professor Thomas
4 iBrain

Patterson and colleagues at Harvard University reported that only 16

percent of adults age eighteen to thirty read a daily newspaper, com-
pared with 35 percent of those thirty-six and older. Patterson predicts
that the future of news will be in the electronic digital media rather than
the traditional print or television forms.
These young people are not abandoning the daily newspaper for a
stroll in the woods to explore nature. Conservation biologist Oliver
Pergams at the University of Illinois recently found a highly significant
correlation between how much time people spend with new technol-
ogy, such as video gaming, Internet surfing, and video watching, and
the decline in per capita visits to national parks.
Digital Natives are snapping up the newest electronic gadgets and
toys with glee and often putting them to use in the workplace. Their
parents’ generation of Digital Immigrants tends to step more reluc-
tantly into the computer age, not because they don’t want to make their
lives more efficient through the Internet and portable devices but be-
cause these devices may feel unfamiliar and might upset their routine at
first.
During this pivotal point in brain evolution, Natives and Immi-
grants alike can learn the tools they need to take charge of their lives
and their brains, while both preserving their humanity and keeping up
with the latest technology. We don’t all have to become techno-zombies,
nor do we need to trash our computers and go back to writing long-
hand. Instead, we all should help our brains adapt and succeed in this
ever-accelerating technological environment.

IT’S ALL IN YOUR HEAD

Every time our brains are exposed to new sensory stimulation or infor-
mation, they function like camera film when it is exposed to an image.
The light from the image passes through the camera lens and causes a
chemical reaction that alters the film and creates a photograph.
As you glance at your computer screen or read this book, light im-
pulses from the screen or page will pass through the lens of your eye
and trigger chemical and electrical reactions in your retina, the mem-
brane in the back of the eye that receives images from the lens and
sends them to the brain through the optic nerve. From the optic nerve,
 Your Brain Is Evolving Right Now 5

neurotransmitters send their messages through a complex network of

neurons, axons, and dendrites until you become consciously aware of
the screen or page. All this takes a miniscule fraction of a second.
Perception of the image may stir intense emotional reactions, jog
repressed memories, or simply trigger an automatic physical response—
like turning the page or scrolling down the computer screen. Our
moment-to-moment responses to our environment lead to very partic-
ular chemical and electrical sequences that shape who we are and what
we feel, think, dream, and do. Although initially transient and instan-
taneous, enough repetition of any stimulus—whether it’s operating a
new technological device, or simply making a change in one’s jogging
route—will lay down a corresponding set of neural network pathways
in the brain, which can become permanent.
Your brain—weighing about three pounds—sits cozily within your
skull and is a complex mass of tissue, jam-packed with an estimated hun-
dred billion cells. These billions of cells have central bodies that control
them, which constitute the brain’s gray matter, also known as the cortex,
an extensive outer layer of cells or neurons. Each cell has extensions, or
wires (axons) that make up the brain’s white matter and connect to den-
drites allowing the cells to communicate and receive messages from one
another across synapses, or connection sites (Figure, page 6).
The brain’s gray matter and white matter are responsible for mem-
ory, thinking, reasoning, sensation, and muscle movement. Scientists
have mapped the various regions of the brain that correspond to differ-
ent functions and specialized neural circuitry (Figure, page 7). These
regions and circuits manage everything we do and experience, includ-
ing falling in love, flossing our teeth, reading a novel, recalling fond
memories, and snacking on a bag of nuts.
The amount and organizational complexity of these neurons, their
wires, and their connections are vast and elaborate. In the average
brain, the number of synaptic connection sites has been estimated at
1,000,000,000,000,000, or a million times a billion. After all, it’s taken
millions of years for the brain to evolve to this point. The fact that it
has taken so long for the human brain to evolve such complexity makes
the current single-generation, high-tech brain evolution so phenome-
nal. We’re talking about significant brain changes happening over mere
decades rather than over millennia.
6 iBrain

Synapse

Axon

Cell body Dendrites

YOUNG PLASTIC BRAINS

The process of laying down neural networks in our brains begins in
infancy and continues throughout our lives. These networks or path-
ways provide our brains an organizational framework for incoming
data. A young mind is like a new computer with some basic programs
built in and plenty of room left on its hard drive for additional infor-
mation. As more and more data enter the computer’s memory, it devel-
ops shortcuts to access that information. Email, word processing, and
search engine programs learn the user’s preferences and repeated key-
words, for which they develop shortcuts, or macros, to complete words
and phrases after only one or two keys have been typed. As young mal-
leable brains develop shortcuts to access information, these shortcuts
represent new neural pathways being laid down. Young children who
have learned their times tables by heart no longer use the more cumber-
some neural pathway of figuring out the math problem by counting
their fingers or multiplying on paper. Eventually they learn even more
effective shortcuts, such as ten times any number simply requires add-
ing a zero, and so on.
 Your Brain Is Evolving Right Now 7

Sensorimotor
Strip
Frontal
Lobe (thinking)
Parietal Lobe
(personality, memory)

Broca’s Area
(speech) Visual
Cortex

Temporal Lobe
(memory, emotion)

Cerebellum (balance)

In order for us to think, feel, and move, our neurons or brain cells
need to communicate with one another. As they mature, neurons
sprout abundant branches, or dendrites, that receive signals from the
long wires or axons of neighboring brain cells. The amount of cell con-
nections, or synapses, in the human brain reaches its peak early in life.
At age two, synapse concentration maxes out in the frontal cortex,
when the weight of the toddler’s brain is nearly that of an adult’s. By
adolescence, these synapses trim themselves down by about 60 percent
and then level off for adulthood. Because there are so many potential
neural connections, our brains have evolved to protect themselves from
“over-wiring” by developing a selectivity and letting in only a small
subset of information. Our brains cannot function efficiently with too
much information.
The vast number of potentially viable connections accounts for the
8 iBrain

young brain’s plasticity, its ability to be malleable and ever-changing in

response to stimulation and the environment. This plasticity allows an
immature brain to learn new skills readily and much more efficiently
than the trimmed-down adult brain. One of the best examples is the
young brain’s ability to learn language. The fine-tuned and well-pruned
adult brain can still take on a new language, but it requires hard work
and commitment. Young children are more receptive to the sounds of a
new language and much quicker to learn the words and phrases. Lin-
guistic scientists have found that the keen ability of normal infants to
distinguish foreign language sounds begins declining by twelve months
of age.
Studies show that our environment molds the shape and function of
our brains as well, and, it can do so to the point of no return. We know
that normal human brain development requires a balance of environ-
mental stimulation and human contact. Deprived of these, neuronal
firing and brain cellular connections do not form correctly. A
well-known example is visual sensory deprivation. A baby born with
cataracts will not be able to see well-defined spatial stimuli in the first
six months of life. If left untreated during those six months, the infant
may never develop proper spatial vision. Because of ongoing develop-
ment of visual brain regions early in life, children remain susceptible to
the adverse effects of visual deprivation until they are about seven or
eight years old. Although exposure to new technology may appear to
have a much more subtle impact, its structural and functional effects
are profound, particularly on a young, extremely plastic brain.
Of course, genetics plays a part in our brain development as well,
and we often inherit cognitive talents and traits from our parents.
There are families in which musical, mathematical, or artistic talents
appear in several family members from multiple generations. Even sub-
tle personality traits appear to have genetic determinants. Identical
twins who were separated at birth and then reunited as adults have
discovered that they hold similar jobs, have given their children the
same names, and share many of the same tastes and hobbies, such as
collecting rare coins or painting their houses green.
But the human genome—the full collection of genes that produces a
human being—cannot run the whole show. The relatively modest num-
ber of human genes—estimated at twenty thousand—is tiny compared
 Your Brain Is Evolving Right Now 9

with the billions of synapses that eventually develop in our brains.

Thus, the amount of information in an individual’s genetic code would
be insufficient to map out the billions of complex neural connections
in the brain without additional environmental input. As a result, the
stimulation we expose our minds to every day is critical in determining
how our brains work.

NATURAL SELECTION
Evolution essentially means change from a primitive to a more special-
ized or advanced state. When your teenage daughter learns to upload
her new iPod while IM’ing on her laptop, talking on her cell phone, and
reviewing her science notes, her brain adapts to a more advanced state
by cranking out neurotransmitters, sprouting dendrites, and shaping
new synapses. This kind of moment-to-moment, day-in and day-out
brain morphing in response to her environment will eventually have an
impact on future generations through evolutionary change.
One of the most influential thinkers of the nineteenth century,
Charles Darwin, helped explain how our brains and bodies evolve
through natural selection, an intricate interaction between our genes
and our environment, which Darwin simply defined as a “preservation
of favorable variations and the rejection of injurious variations.” Genes,
made up of DNA—the blueprint of all living things—define who we are:
whether we’ll have blue eyes, brown hair, flexible joints, or perfect pitch.
Genes are passed from one generation to the next, but occasionally the
DNA of an offspring contains errors or mutations. These errors can
lead to differing physical and mental attributes that could give certain
offspring an advantage in some environments. For example, the gene-
tic mutation leading to slightly improved visual acuity gave the “fit-
test” ancestral hunters a necessary advantage to avoid oncoming
predators and go on to kill their prey. Darwin’s principal of survival of
the fittest helps explain how those with a genetic edge are more likely to
survive, thrive, and pass their DNA on to the next generation. These
DNA mutations also help explain the tremendous diversity within our
species that has developed over time.
Not all brain evolution is about survival. Most of us in developed na-
tions have the survival basics down—a place to live, a grocery store
10 iBrain

nearby, and the ability to dial 911 in an emergency. Thus, our brains are
free to advance in creative and academic ways, achieve higher goals,
and, it is hoped, increase our enjoyment of life.
Sometimes an accident of nature can have a profound effect on the
trajectory of our species, putting us on a fast-track evolutionary course.
According to anthropologist Stanley Ambrose of the University of
Illinois, approximately three hundred thousand years ago, a Neander-
thal man realized he could pick up a bone with his hand and use it as a
primitive hammer. Our primitive ancestors soon learned that this tool
was more effective when the other object was steadied with the oppo-
site hand. This led our ancestors to develop right-handedness or
left-handedness. As one side of the brain evolved to become stronger
at controlling manual dexterity the opposite side became more spe-
cialized in the evolution of language. The area of the modern brain
that controls the oral and facial muscle movement necessary for
language—Broca’s area—is in the frontal lobe just next to the fi ne mus-
cle area that controls hand movement.
Nine out of ten people are right-handed, and their Broca’s area, lo-
cated in the left hemisphere of their brain, controls the right side of
their body. Left-handers generally have their Broca’s area in the right
hemisphere of their brain. Some of us are ambidextrous, but our hand-
edness preference for the right or the left tends to emerge when we write
or use any hand-held tool that requires a precision grip.
In addition to handedness, the coevolution of language and tool
making led to other brain alterations. To create more advanced tools,
prehuman Neanderthals had to have a goal in mind and the planning
skills to reach that goal. For example, ensuring that a primitive spear
or knife could be gripped well and kill prey involved planning a se-
quence of actions, such as cutting and shaping the tool and collecting
its binding material. Similar complex planning was also necessary for
the development of grammatical language, including stringing to-
gether words and phrases and coordinating the fine motor lingual and
facial muscles, which are thought to have further accelerated frontal
lobe development.
In fact, when neuroscientists perform functional magnetic reso-
nance imaging (MRI) studies while volunteers imagine a goal and carry
out secondary tasks to achieve that goal, the scientists can pinpoint
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
Brussels seethed with excitement and joy; the members of the great
trade guilds, the armourers, the cloth makers, the glovers, the
gardeners, turned out in bands and paraded the streets; many of the
shops closed while the servers and apprentices went out to see the
Cardinal pass; parties of Protestants went about singing the hymns
of Marot, and defying the law. It was a general holiday, and the only
people angry and discomfited were the Cardinalists, Barlaymont,
Aerschot, and Vigilius, who saw their power at an end; even the
Regent was glad to see Granvelle go, for she hoped and imagined
that the seigneurs would be easier to manage than the astute and
able priest.
"Poor Madame Parma," remarked the Cardinal to his brother, the
Seigneur de Chantonnay, who accompanied him in his carriage, "she
cannot manage her charge at all. His Majesty should send a man to
the Netherlands."
"The Duke of Alva for example," replied Chantonnay, who hated the
Netherlanders.
"Alva is too severe," returned Granvelle; "these are people who will
not bear too light a curb, too heavy a yoke. Alva has already
recommended the taking off of the heads of Egmont and Hoorne."
"Why not?" said the other, who was vexed at his brother's fall and
extremely irritated by the joyous and insolent farewells being given
to the cavalcade as it passed towards the gates. "They are little
better than rebels."
"Egmont is more useful to His Majesty alive than dead—better buy
him than behead him."
"Is he to be bought?"
"Easily—poor, extravagant, vain——"
"But he is under the influence of Orange," said Chantonnay.
Granvelle smiled.
"There you have the crux of the situation, my friend," he replied.
"The Prince of Orange. That is the man to strike, the others are boys
and roysterers—but he knows how to use them. If it had not been
for him I should not be leaving the Netherlands now."
"Why is he so disloyal?" asked Chantonnay peevishly.
"Ah, who knows what game he plays!" replied the Cardinal rather
wearily. "He is serving neither King nor Church, so he must be
serving himself—ambition!"
They had now nearly reached the gates of Caudenberg, and the
Cardinal's escort, princely train and numerous equipages, were
blocked for a moment by the narrowness of the streets and the
pressure of the exulting crowds. Chantonnay was afraid of violence,
even of assassination; there had been rumours of hired murderers
lying in wait for the Cardinal, ready to take the first opportunity of
attack; but Granvelle, who had driven alone and unarmed at night
out to his country residence, was not to be frightened now, though
the crowd might very well be dangerous.
He looked steadily and keenly out of the coach window at the faces
of his enemies.
"They are sturdy people," he remarked, "who will give the King
much trouble. And what truly grieves me is to see what little respect
there is for holy things, one might say that there is no religion left in
the land."
"Yet the great nobles have taken the Cardinal's Hat from the livery, I
observe," said Chantonnay, "and put instead a bunch of arrows."
"The Duchess requested it," returned the Cardinal, who was still
intently observing the crowd. "But what helps that? The Hat but
meant insult to me and God's poor priests, whereas the arrows
mean that they are banded together against the King, which is a
declaration of rebellion no monarch should endure."
The carriage now moved on, and the Cardinal leant back in his seat;
he had been looking to see if any of the nobles were among the
crowd, for he wished to report very exactly the behaviour of these
seigneurs to Philip. So far he had noticed none above the baser sort,
but presently, as they neared the gate, he looked out again and up
at the house near by where he knew Brederode had his lodgings.
And there at one of the windows was the Count together with the
Count Hoogstraaten, the two of them laughing and throwing up their
caps and clapping their hands in undisguised triumph and delight.
This boyish exultation brought to Granvelle's cheek the angry flush
the stately victory of William of Orange had failed to evoke; the
brilliant minister, the skilful politician, the haughty priest tasted
humiliation when he saw himself the butt of the malicious wits of
these two young cavaliers.
He drew into the farthest corner of the carriage, but they had seen
him, and, leaning out of the window, shouted their farewells with
redoubled pleasure as the procession finally passed through the
gates.
Then, with the common impulse not to let their defeated enemy
escape too cheaply, they rushed down to the courtyard.
"I must see the last of the old fox!" cried Hoogstraaten, and he flung
himself on his horse which stood waiting for him.
"I too!" laughed Brederode, "and as I am not booted I will come
with you."
So saying he leapt on the Count's croup, and they dashed through
street and gates in pursuit of the Cardinal's stately cortége, which
was attended by a number of sumpter-mules, lent him by the
Duchess.
The two knights on the one horse, Hoogstraaten in his buff and gold
riding suit, his black velvet cap with the long heron's feather
fastened by an emerald, his violet mantle; Brederode in the tawny
damask satin, Flanders lace, scarlet points, and silk hose, in which
he had danced nearly all through the night, were at once recognized
by the crowd and cheered and applauded as heartily as the Cardinal
had been hissed and execrated.
Brederode gaily waved the mantle he had snatched up as a pretence
at a disguise, and laughed over the edge of his triple ruff which was
something broken and something stained, and the couple plunged
through the gates and out on to the road where the Cardinal was
commencing his stately, if tedious, progress towards Namur, the first
stage of the journey.
There were several others following the cavalcade, notably one of
Egmont's gentlemen, and one who was in the employ of the Marquis
Berghen, that nobleman whom the Cardinal disliked and feared next
to the Prince of Orange.
But there was no representative of the House of Nassau dogging the
retreat of His Eminence, and William would have been far from
pleased had he known of the exploit of Hoogstraaten and Brederode.
For a while these two cavaliers kept a discreet distance from the
Cardinal, and remained at the side of the road in the rear and near
to the baggage mules.
But this did not long satisfy Brederode; he wished to ride by
Granvelle's actual carriage, and to let him see who was escorting
him on his journey.
And so, when the road fell into a little ravine, the two cavaliers rode
along the edge of the height until they were beside the carriage and
could look down on it, and when the way was level again they
reappeared at the edge of the autumn forest, near enough to His
Eminence's coach to look in at the window.
Granvelle's attention was attracted by Chantonnay to this spectacle
of two men on one horse, and he looked out of the carriage.
Hoogstraaten had thrown his mantle over the lower part of his face,
but Brederode's reckless face was uncovered save for the brown
curls the March wind blew across his brow and cheeks (for he was
hatless).
The Cardinal knew both instantly.
"They are buffoons," he remarked, but though he tried thus to
dismiss the incident, it vexed him; however, the annoyance passed
when he reflected how dearly the jesters were likely to pay for their
jest.
The two cavaliers, regardless of the fact that the Cardinal had seen
them and that therefore a full account of their exploit was certain to
reach Philip, continued to follow the cavalcade in its slow progress
over the rough, muddy winter roads until they reached a high piece
of rising ground that commanded a full view of the surrounding
country—bare woods, fields, hedges, disappearing into the cold blue
mist of the distance.
Here they waited, and looking scornfully down on the Cardinal's
coach as it passed, watched it lumbering along the road to Namur
until a turn hid it from their eyes.
"At the first stage Granvelle will write of this to the Duchess,"
remarked Hoogstraaten, in a grave voice; his high spirits had left
him, his prudence, though not his courage, was alarmed at what he
had done.
But Brederode laughed; prudence was as unknown to him as fear;
he had a far better claim than Philip to the Countship of all Holland,
for his ancestry went unbrokenly back five hundred years to the
ancient sovereigns of that province. In his heart he regarded the
King as a usurper, and he had no respect either for him or his
ministers; indeed, his furious loathing of Granvelle and his policies
was based on his hatred of seeing his native land, where his
forebears had ruled, in the hands of foreigners.
"Well, we have seen the last flick of the fox's tail," he said joyously,
"and now we may go home to dinner, this keen air has given me an
appetite."
Hoogstraaten turned the horse's head towards Brussels.
"Yes, the Cardinal has gone, but his disciples remain," he answered
thoughtfully.
"The seigneurs will see to them," said Brederode confidently.
"Ah, I know not," remarked Hoogstraaten; "I believe Armenteros,
the Regent's secretary, has more influence with her than Orange
himself. But we shall see."
"Ay, we shall see, my Anthony," returned Brederode, "for my part I
do not think so gloomily; if Armenteros behave as Granvelle has,
then he may follow the same road—we have cast down a Cardinal,
do you think we are to be baffled by a clerk?"
And he began to sing a cheerful song in a merry bass voice which
rose very pleasantly over the still winter woodlands.
When they reached the Caudenberg gate they found the city still full
of joyous emotion, and received as noisy a greeting as they had
done on their departure.
Hoogstraaten would have dismounted at Brederode's lodgings, but
that nobleman would by no means permit it, and they continued
their progress through the city, exchanging joyful congratulations
and greetings with those who were making a festival of Granvelle's
departure.
As they made their way up the high streets which led to the ancient
Brabant palace which was the Regent's residence, they were hailed
by a half-laughing voice, and the Prince of Orange galloped
alongside them.
"We have escorted His Eminence on the road to Namur!" cried
Brederode.
"And though hungry and thirsty and cold," added Hoogstraaten, "we
are now joining in the rejoicings of the good citizens."
"Ah, seigneurs," said William, with a little smile, "one day your
pleasantries will end in a mischief, I fear."
"To our enemies, yes," replied Brederode. "Where is Your Highness
going?"
"To wait on the Regent."
"So soon?"
"Ay, Margaret having flung away one prop must seize another; she is
a weak woman and cannot stand alone," remarked Hoogstraaten.
"Shall we see you at supper to-night?" asked Brederode, as the
Prince touched up his horse.
"Nay," smiled the Prince, "a wise man avoids your suppers, my
Brederode, at least when he has business to perform."
"I have an excellent cook," pleaded the Count.
William, still smiling, shook his head and rode on towards the
Brabant palace.
He went slowly, without parade or a single attendant, greeted
affectionately and loyally by most of the people, for though some
were doubtful of his attitude, the bulk believed that he would defend
their liberties, and a great number even of the heretics had their
hope in the great Catholic Prince who had already spoken against
the Inquisition.
To-day, too, he was regarded by the people with added respect and
interest, for it was clear that now the Cardinal had fallen, the Prince,
as the principal member of the league that had brought about
Granvelle's downfall, would be the greatest man in the Netherlands.
Many wistful eyes were turned towards him as he rode, for many felt
their fate was in his hands.
His deportment was not that of a man either triumphant or joyous;
he was pale beneath the clear brown of his proper complexion, his
eyes were guarded and thoughtful, and though he smiled with his
usual pleasantness at those of his acquaintances he met, his manner
was absent, and he seemed neither so gay nor so careless as he had
done even a few days before.
When he reached the Brabant palace he met Egmont leaving the
gates; the Count was flushed with pleasure at the reception the
Regent had given him, and loud in his protestations of loyalty to
Church and King; he was disposed to be frank and generous in his
triumphs, and to heartily forgive all his enemies now the chief of
them had been removed.
William regarded him affectionately, but said very little, and his air
was still grave as he entered the palace.
 CHAPTER XIV
THE REGENT, THE PRINCE, AND THE
CARDINALIST

M
argaret received William warmly; she already spoke of the
Cardinal with dislike and vexation, declared herself rejoiced to
be rid of him, and showed every intention of flattering the men
who had replaced him and his party and who must henceforth be
supreme in her councils.
But the Prince was not captured by these compliments as Egmont
had been; he had his agents at the Spanish Court, he knew
something of the other side of the picture, and while Margaret was
speaking he was looking at Armenteros, the arrogant Spanish
secretary, who remained in the chamber. In this man, known to be
deep in Philip's confidence and intimate with the Duchess, William
beheld Granvelle's true successor.
At the same time he was perfectly well aware that Margaret knew
his great influence, his unique position, and was sincerely desirous
of attaching him to her; indeed, it was quite clear to the Prince that
the Regent, despite her haughtiness, her pose of firmness, and
independence, was sorely bewildered and confused how to manage
her perilous wardship of the Netherlands, and eager enough for help
and counsel.
But the Prince was not the man to sympathize with an arrogant
woman unequal to her charge; he deemed a woman as out of place
in government as a man at a spinning-wheel, though one who was
queen by right and not by choice would have had his deep loyalty,
but Margaret, however, was practically a foreigner, and lording in a
place not her own, and neither the character of this woman who
assumed such masculine qualities and was in reality so weak and
futile, nor the rank of this Princess whose mother had been the
daughter of a poor weaver of Oudenarde, could inspire any respect
or admiration in the Prince.
He considered her as but a poor instrument of Philip's policy, and
even while she was offering him the courtesies she thought so
diplomatic, he was wondering how long she would hold her place.
Margaret on her side was uneasy; she could not read the Prince, she
did not wholly trust him, yet she knew him to be necessary to her.
With Egmont she had felt far safer; whatever his extravagances he
was obviously loyal, obviously a good Catholic, and she was sure of
the Prince on neither of these points; indeed, the painstaking
Regent, sincerely eager to do her duty towards Philip and the
Church, was secretly sorely puzzled how to deal with William.
She proceeded to endeavour to win, and if possible, deceive him by
cajoleries and blandishments, as she had already won and deceived
Egmont, for her politics were those of Machiavelli and Loyola.
"Now the Cardinal has gone," she said, "I can surround myself with
my good friends whom he kept from me, and I hope all will go more
smoothly and prosperously, both in my councils and the states,
without this meddling priest."
William smiled into his ruff; by her abuse of Granvelle he could
measure what she had said of him to the Cardinal, what she would,
most likely, be writing to that minister within a few hours.
"There will be more prosperity for His Majesty's subjects and less
anxiety for those who serve His Majesty, if His Eminence's counsels
are reversed," he said.
Margaret regarded him with an anxiety she could not altogether
conceal; her full bosom heaved beneath the gathered lawn and the
Genoa velvet, and a quiver passed over her majestic face which she
endeavoured to keep so regally impassive.
"It is to be supposed his policies are to be reversed, Highness," she
answered, "since his enemies will take his place;" then remembering
that the Cardinal's absence was supposed to be only a temporary
one, "It may be some while before he returns to the Netherlands,
and meanwhile we need not consult him," she added.
"Will he return at all?" smiled William, looking straightly at her. "I
scarcely think so, Madame."
The Duchess, who had had Philip's secret instructions to allow the
Cardinal to depart, and who knew that the visit to Burgundy was an
elaborate ruse to disguise the downfall of the minister, was startled
at the Prince's words. "How much does he know?" she thought, and
her respect and awe of him increased.
"The Cardinal's return must be in His Majesty's good pleasure," she
replied, smiling in her turn. "Meanwhile we have other things to
think of. I have asked Your Highness here, to this private audience,
because I know you to be of a nature as noble as your rank, and
because I want you to aid and support me in the task I have before
me, which is not, the Virgin help me, a light one."
Behind the obvious flattery of the words was a sincere feminine
appeal for help, and her eyes were turned on the Prince with a real
anxiety.
"Surely, Madame," replied William, "you do not think I should be
disloyal to you? I know I have been greatly slandered, but I trust
you have never believed disloyalty of me."
"Nay, nay," said Margaret. "I did not even think of disloyalty—but I
have had to complain, with justice, that you have so obstinately kept
aloof from my councils."
"Because my presence was useless where no one was listened to
save Granvelle and his creatures, Madame."
"That is over," replied the Duchess, "and now I rely on the seigneurs
and principally on Your Highness."
"I hope to deserve the trust," said William, "and to advise Your
Grace for the peace and welfare of the States."
Margaret felt the words formal; she perceived that he could play
with phrases as well as she, and that she was unlikely to gain much
from him this way. While she was turning over in her mind the best
way to gain him, William spoke again, using a frankness that was
more subtle and more baffling than all Margaret's tortuous methods
and policies.
"Your Excellency will not enforce the Inquisition?" he asked, he was
looking at Margaret, but he noted the little movement the silent
secretary made at his words.
"I have recommended mercy and gentleness to Peter Titelmann,"
replied the Regent, "and I ever beg His Majesty to use clemency
towards the Netherlands."
"But you will enforce the Inquisition?" persisted the Prince.
"It cannot be supposed," answered Margaret suavely, "that the King
will endure heresy among his subjects."
"It is then his intention to extirpate heresy?" asked William, and he
remembered that conversation with Henry of France in the woods of
Vincennes.
"An intention known to all the world," asserted Margaret. "His
Majesty would rather lose his kingdoms than endure that heresy
should flourish under his rule."
They were almost the same words that Granvelle had used in the
gardens of La Fontaine.
"None the less," added Margaret, "His Majesty awaits the decision of
the Council of Trent before proceeding severely against these
wretches."
"Meanwhile," said William, "the Inquisitors are burning, strangling,
torturing in every town in the States."
Margaret flushed angrily.
"Those who are thus punished are miserable blasphemers—would
Your Highness speak for a man who remained covered while the
Host passed, or one who mocked a statue of the Virgin?"
"I would not burn them quick," replied William, "nay, I would not
touch their lives at all, nor yet their properties."
"Your Highness has of late been dangerously clement towards these
heretics," remarked the Duchess.
"It is but natural," replied the Prince, with a smile, "since most of
those dearest to me are heretics. But I do not speak from clemency
but from policy when I advise Your Grace to toleration."
Again the secretary made that little movement; William could
imagine the letter he would write to Philip.
"Toleration?" cried the Duchess angrily; "do you advise me to accord
toleration to heretics?"
"Yes," said William, and he looked at the Spaniard sitting quiet in his
corner, for he felt he was speaking not to Margaret but to Philip, and
that his words, spoken in this chamber of the Brabant palace, would
soon be known in that cell of the Escorial where the laborious King
sat painstakingly annotating his lengthy and innumerable dispatches.
The Duchess knew not what to answer; all her policy of flattery and
conciliation was overwhelmed by the rage and contempt she felt for
William's views, which vexed her the more as she vaguely knew they
were, from the point of policy, right.
"The Netherlands," continued William, "will never take the
Inquisition. They will never give up heresy. If they are forced they
will be maddened into a revolt."
"The King will know how to deal with revolt," returned Margaret
haughtily.
"The King," said William, again turning his dark eyes on Armenteros,
"will scarcely provoke a revolt. He has too much wisdom and too
little right."
"You question the King's right?" exclaimed the Duchess aghast.
"Madame," the Prince reminded her, "the States and the cities have
charters and liberties older than the sovereignty of the House of
Burgundy. And both His Majesty and the Queen Mary, the late
Regent, swore to protect these liberties."
"But the King cannot, will not, endure heresy!" cried Margaret.
"The Emperor was as good a Catholic as His Majesty," said William,
"and he suffered heresy in his dominions when he was leaguing with
the Protestant Princes of Germany. Therefore the King may suffer it
sooner than spoil, ruin, and lose the richest portion of his realms."
"They would not revolt—they would not dare!" said Margaret.
"They will dare a great deal, these Netherlanders, once they are
roused," returned the Prince, "as Your Grace may have observed in
the great numbers who refuse to recant their heresy, even for their
lives, and in those who proclaim their faith knowing well what the
penalties are."
"Your Highness is very zealous in the cause of these wretched
people," said the Duchess, with some bitterness.
"Call me zealous in the cause of His Majesty," replied William.
"Before God, all I say and do is loyally said and done, and with the
sole desire to preserve peace and contentment and obedience in
these States."
"I do believe you," returned Margaret hastily; she was unwilling to
provoke further disputes, and considered it easier to take the Prince
at the mere face value of his words than to endeavour, as she might
so easily have done, to find offence in the possible meanings of
them. "I believe and trust Your Highness, and shall look to your
good help and counsel to assist me."
The question of the enforcement of the Inquisition was thus evaded;
it was a question Margaret preferred not to have to answer, and one
William saw no use in insisting on, so well did he know the mind of
the Regent and the King on this subject.
"Time," he contented himself by saying, "will prove if I am right in
what I say; and also my honest purpose to serve His Majesty and
Your Grace."
He rose, and again his glance travelled to the keen, sharp face of
the secretary, who had now risen also and stood very respectfully in
his corner.
"Does he think I do not know that he is a spy on me?" considered
William, as he kissed the Regent's hand; "does she think I am going
to be her tool to do hangman's work?"
He took his leave: Margaret gracious and smiling, pressing him and
his family to come to her banquets, beseeching his frequent
presence at her councils; the secretary all deference and stately
homage.
When William had closed the door behind him, he laughed softly,
then, as he turned away down the tapestried corridor, he sighed.
It might be easy to read Margaret, even to manage her; it might be
easy, too, to influence and control those who composed her
councils; but behind Margaret was the most powerful, the most
fanatic, the most unscrupulous, the most obstinate King in the
world, and behind him and his Inquisition was a more powerful force
still—the entire might, the whole weight of the Holy Roman Church,
armed not only with the fire and sword of this world, but the
punishments of hell and the rewards of heaven.
The liberties of the Netherlands were signed and sealed in laws and
charters, but what could parchment and ink avail against the
temporal power of Philip; the heretics might be courageous and
unyielding, but what were they compared to the spiritual power of
the Pope, supported by all the great Princes of Europe?
And what could William of Orange hope to achieve if he set himself
against any of the desires of Philip? Merely that speedy and
mysterious death that awaited the King's disobedient servants.
These thoughts did not occur to Egmont, to Montigny, to Brederode,
to the other seigneurs who rejoiced in the departure of Granvelle;
they knew themselves free from even a treasonable thought, and
considered themselves as safe as the Regent herself from the wrath
of Philip.
But William had been educated at the Emperor's Court; he had been
for a while intimate with Philip; he knew by heart the intricate
policies of the Court, the blind fanaticism, the narrow vanity, the dull
obstinacy of the King; and as surely as if he had seen it with his own
eyes he knew his name headed a list of the seigneurs the King kept
until he could one by one strike them off the paper—on the day
when they would be struck off the earth.
Therefore he knew the difficulties, the perils of his position, though
did no one else in the Netherlands, and he had reason for looking
thoughtful while Brederode jested and the others laughed. As he
was passing down the great stairs he met Barlaymont coming up.
This man, Granvelle's most detested follower, and the one who had
betrayed to him the secrets of the league of seigneurs formed
against him, was now entirely in disgrace. The Duchess received him
with rudeness, and those who had formerly fawned on him now
rushed to pay court to his ascendant enemies. He was white and
haggard with humiliation and vexation, his eyes red with bitter tears.
He looked up, coloured at seeing William, and paused.
The Prince came down slowly, a slender figure in a cross-cut doublet
of a peacock colour, a mantle of red and black fur; he carried his cap
and switch under his arm, and was fastening his fringed gauntlets
with a gold thread.
"Your Highness has soon come to the scene of your triumph," said
Barlaymont.
William turned serene eyes on him.
"Ah, Baron, I do not triumph," he said, half sadly.
"I think Your Highness does when you step into the place of the man
you have cast down."
"It was not I," replied William, "it was the Netherlands that would
not endure the Cardinal."
"You take refuge behind that," said Barlaymont bitterly, "but it shall
not save you. Now you exult. Now you think to put your foot on our
party, and for a time you may. But I tell you that you have won a
perilous victory."
"I know it," said the Prince.
"Now you are supreme, now you are the favourite," continued the
fallen minister. "But the King is not so easily dared, so safely
affronted. As surely as now you are uppermost, Philip will call you
and those behind you to account—to a very stern account,
Highness."
"You speak as the mouthpiece of Madrid," said the Prince, "and
doubtless have good authority for these threats. Tell those who
instructed you that I know my position and their power."
"I speak for myself only," replied Barlaymont, "to let you know that I
am only for the moment disgraced and humiliated—down as I am, I
would not change to stand in your Highness's place! Nay, I would
not wear your present honours at the cost you must pay——"
"I do believe it," answered William; "but you and I are different men,
Barlaymont, and my house has never shirked perilous honours."
He bent his head and passed on, lacing again his glove.
About the bottom of the stairs a flood of crimson light lay, cast by
the two windows filled with red and gold glass, through which the
last rays of the winter sun was streaming; and as William
descended, it gradually enveloped him and dyed him red as if he
was passing into a sea of blood, over his feet, to his waist, to his
shoulders, closing over his head.
Then he passed into the darkness of the shadowed hall beyond and
was lost to Barlaymont's watching eyes.
 PART II
THE HOLY INQUISITION

"Lièver Turcx dan Paus."—Legend on a Beggar Medal, 1574

 CHAPTER I
THE PIGEON

T
he sunshine of late summer was mellow in the beautiful room
that looked on the garden where the last roses bloomed amid
the heavy luxuriance of foreign shrubs and flowers; golden the
fair light of afternoon filled the chamber as amber-coloured wine
might fill a dark cup, and there was no sound save the insistent
ticking of the tall clock in the corner.
The room served no particular purpose, but was a mere
antechamber to the library or corridor between that and a great
chamber used for receptions and feasts.
Rénèe le Meung stood at the window looking on the hushed and
sunny garden. She liked this chamber, and spent her little leisure
there. She was not commonly disturbed, as the Prince's luxurious
household seldom used this handsome library, and she had come to
be fond of the room, to regard it almost as her own—more her own
than the hot little bedchamber under the eaves, where she was
within sound of Anne's persistent bell and ceaseless shrill demands.
She knew and liked the several pieces of furniture here—the large
dark cupboard opposite to the window which was polished till it
gleamed like steel; the Spanish chairs with gilt leather fringed seats
either side; the waxed and shining picture, as bright as a jewel and
as flat as a mosaic, that hung above the door into the library, and
the other picture, a portrait of a fat, stern gentleman in black,
handling the massive chain round his neck, which was opposite
above the other door; and the tall wooden clock with the delicately
engraved steel face and the numbers cut in flourishes fine as pen-
strokes.
There was no other furnishing save the three brocade cushions that
filled the seat of the high Gothic window, yet the chamber had an air
of richness and beauty and peace.
Rénèe's eyes lifted presently to the picture above the library door
and dwelt there curiously.
It was a Flemish painting, perhaps a hundred years old, and
represented a young saint, Agnes, Barbara, or Cecilia, being led out
to martyrdom.
The virgin, robed in white, with fair hair, combed carefully in thin
curls over her slanting shoulders, stood in the midst of a neat and
flowery field, on which daisies and other little plants shone like stars.
She lifted her round and smiling face, which was freshly coloured
and seemed never to have known care nor trouble, to a clear and
lovely blue sky.
Behind her the executioners, elaborately clad in ruffled scarlet
breeches and embroidered doublet, stood ready with rope and axe,
and in the distance a hill town showed against the blue horizon with
the distinctness of a toy model.
The picture fascinated Rénèe, it was so serene, so pleasant, so far
removed from horror or disgust, terror or pain, that it might make a
tired soul long to die that way, calm and smiling in a daisied meadow
that was but one step from the paradise where a martyr's crown was
already being plaited by the angels and saints.
There were martyrs now; men, women, and children as pious, as
steadfast as any of the early Christians whom heathens slaughtered
and to whom altars were set up all over Europe, died every day in
the Netherlands. But not that way.
Rénèe knew it was not that way, the way of peace, with flowers
beneath and the blue heavens above—nay, it was in the common
day-time, amid the sordid surroundings of the market-place, with
insults, with jeers, with flames, smoke, the shrieks of fellow-victims,
the frenzied preaching of the monks, the groans of the crowd, with
their ravaged homes perhaps within sight, their frantic children
driven back by the soldiers, with all the details of pain and misery
and dreariness, with none to comfort nor encourage—Rénèe knew
that this was how the Netherlanders died—died daily by every
manner of torture, by every form of terrible and horrible death.
There were some who were never seen in the market-place nor on
the public gallows; these were they who were thrown into the
prisons of the Holy Inquisition, and never more came forth from the
dark only lit by the glare of the torture fires, or the silence broken
only by groans of mortal agony and the calm adjurations of the
monks.
Rénèe turned her eyes away from the picture. "It was never like
that," she said to herself; "it lies—and who can tell that the heavens
opened to receive them, and the saints crowded to welcome them?
Who can tell? Who has seen it?"
She gazed into the Prince's garden, but the fairness of it brought no
peace to her heart.
A warm breeze waved the costly flowers and the carefully tended
trees in the groves and alleys. Two young men were playing tennis
in the foremost court; the white balls sped gracefully against the
green, the soft-shod figures moved noiselessly to and fro behind the
nets.
In and out of the gables and crevices of the palace pigeons flew;
their hoarse cooing was steady in the stillness. Now and then their
strong wings beat past the window, and presently one settled on the
open lattice, and moving its flexible head, gazed at Rénèe with an
eye as red and bright as a ruby.
She looked at the bird with admiration; it was an exquisite thing,
white and black shot with purple, all gleaming in the sunlight and
ruffled with pride.
Then suddenly, as Rénèe looked, it flew straight past her into the
room and beat against the black bureau.
Rénèe rose and clapped her hands to frighten it away, but the bird
clung to the polished wood, fluttering the gleaming wings, the soft
body panting and quivering.
As she approached, it flew again with a powerful stroke of the fine
wings cutting the air, and beat frantically from door to door, passing
and repassing the open window.
"Poor silly thing!" cried Rénèe; "so do we all beat about in our
prisons when the door is open on the sky!"
The pigeon settled on the frame of the Flemish picture, and looked
down, palpitating, the tumbled breast heaving, the bright eyes alert
and anxious.
Rénèe stood helpless by the open window, her hand on her bosom
and a little flush of colour in her grave face.
The opening of the door from the reception room caused her to turn
with a start (she was so seldom disturbed in this chamber) and the
pigeon to fly up and round the ceiling.
He who entered shut the door instantly and gave a quick glance at
Rénèe in her warm, opulent beauty and severe blue gown, and then
at the bird flashing like a gleam of light in the dusky darkness of the
high ceiling.
It was the Prince.
Rénèe stood in a foolish confusion; it was long since she had seen
him save at a distance, and his sudden appearance bewildered her
completely.
"The bird is a prisoner?" he asked, and he spoke quite gravely,
though he smiled a little.
"It will not see the open window, Highness," she replied; and as she
spoke, the pigeon circled lower in exhausted fashion, and settled on
the back of one of the black chairs.
The Prince put out his hand gently and easily and caught the bird by
the wings, and so held it out, the coral-coloured feet contracted, the
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