William nodded.
"I would not ask it of you."
Sunderland detached the Lord Chamberlain's gold key from his crimson waistcoat and placed it on the pale oak table.
"I shall be always at your service—just the same," he said; "but I shall never climb again." He smiled. "This is the sum of it, sire—I have no title that I was not born to, I shall have an impaired estate, a detested memory—but I have lived my life, and I have no regrets—none."
"You take with you my deep thanks and gratitude," responded William, with animation. "I could never have done what I have done but for you. You will remain my friend, if not my minister. What is your other news?"
"Of far greater importance, sire. Of terrible meaning to Your Majesty."
William's eyes flashed. He leant forward.
"To do—with France?" he breathed.
"Yes, sire. The courier from Paris will be here to-night, but the news is all abroad in London now."
The King's hollow cheek flushed.