With the knowledge that a struggle was inevitable a change came over the Queen's spirit. As long as an accommodation seemed possible she had shown, certainly from time to time, some moderation and some desire to propitiate her enemies, but it seemed to her that the demands of Parliament were unreasonable, and that, in fact, when she spoke of peace her foes made them ready for battle. There was no way through the impasse, for they, on their side, were of just the same opinion. Thenceforward her tactics were different. As she had opposed an ignominious peace with the Scotch rebels, so now she was an advocate of no compromise. Throwing herself with all the energy of her nature--she could never do anything by halves, said one who knew her well[262]--into her husband's cause, she took her place among the most active members of the royalist party. Gone was the Queen of love and beauty, the gentle lady whose interests were those of the drawing-room, the nursery, and the chapel. Gone even was the Queen of tears, who sat cowering in London on the eve of the war. Instead is seen a woman stern and determined, brushing aside concessions and half-measures with undisguised scorn, leaving without a sigh the luxuries in which from her cradle she had been lapped, and in which she had shown an artistic and sensuous delight, posting over land and sea, regardless of comfort, of health, of life itself, to bring succour to her husband. The daughter of Henry IV had risen to the measure of her likeness to her great father. Henrietta set out for Holland in February, 1642. The ostensible reason of her journey was to escort her daughter Mary, who was only ten years old, to her husband, the Prince of Orange. The real reason was to raise such sums of money and to collect such quantities of arms and ammunition as she could obtain on the security of the treasures which she took with her, her own jewels and those of the Crown of England. After a stormy crossing, which resulted in the loss of the chapel vessels and of the servants' clothes, Henrietta was able to gather round her on the soil of Holland her small household. It included Lord Goring, Lady Denbigh, Lady Roxburgh, who had been the little princesses' governess, and Father Philip, who was accompanied by one of his old rivals of the Capuchin Order. The storm-tossed exiles were met at the coast by Henry, Prince of Orange, who, anxious to give due honour to his son's bride and mother-in-law, welcomed the sorrowful Queen with a "brief and succinct speech," running to a length of three and a half closely printed quarto pages, and couched in a style of inflated flattery[263] which, sad as she was, must have taxed Henrietta's gravity to listen to. She replied, however, with great decorum that the Prince appeared to her "the god of eloquence," after which she and her little daughter were royally feasted in the palace at The Hague.