Besides, there was another token.

The Netherlander had intentionally commenced a conversation on art, and it was almost unprecedented to find Philip disinclined to enter into one.

The blow had been scarcely perceptible, but Majesty will not endure a touch.
Philip did not wish to quarrel with the artist now, but he would remember the incident, and woe betide him, if in some gloomy hour the sovereign should recall the insult offered him here.

Even the lightest blow from the paw of this slinking tiger could inflict deep wounds--even death.
These thoughts had darted with the speed of lightning through the artist's mind, and still lingered there as, respectfully declining to take the palette, he replied "I beseech you, Sire, keep the brush and colors, and correct what you dislike." "That would mean to repaint the whole picture, and my time is limited," answered Philip.

"You are responsible for your pupils' faults, as well as for your own offences.