M. Beuningen set his tankard down.
“We have gained little good by this conference,” he said distractedly.
William was silent.
M. Beuningen crumbled his bread on the table.
“Your Highness,” he said desperately, “I have been thinking … all night … this wretched country.… O God! my country.…”
A light flashed into William’s eyes, but still he said nothing.
M. Beuningen pushed back his chair. He could hardly control his features and his voice.
“I must appeal to Your Highness—in the name of the States,” he said thickly, “for we have no hope but in you.…”
“What do you mean, my lord?” asked William softly.