Their talk was for a while of general matters—of the heats in parliament and the prospects of the campaign of the allies under Waldeck and Vaudemont; each was silent about the matter uppermost in his mind—the recovery of the King. Portland, the lifelong friend, upright, noble, stern; Romney, gay, impulsive, shallow, but loyal and honest; Somers, worthy, tireless, a Whig, and of the people; Sunderland, aristocrat and twice told a traitor, shameless, secretive, and fascinating, by far the finest statesman of the four—all these had one object in common, to rouse the man on whom depended the whole machinery of the English government and the whole fate of the huge coalition against France, which had taken twenty years to form. Sunderland, heartily disliked by the other three, yet master of all of them, suddenly, with delicate precision, came to the heart of the matter. "Unless all Europe is to slip back into the hands of France," he said, "the King _must_ take up his duties." "This temper of his is making him most unpopular," remarked Somers, who, honestly grateful to his master, had always endeavoured to turn people and parliament to an affection for the King. "Though the Queen was greatly beloved they resent this long mourning." "She held the King and country together," answered Sunderland. "Her English birth, her tactful, pretty ways did His Majesty more service here than a deal of statecraft—the Jacks know that; the country is swarming with them, and unless it is all to end in disaster—the King _must_ act his old part." Portland flushed. "You say so, my lord, but who is to rouse a man utterly prostrate? Nothing availeth to draw him from his sloth." "He is neither dead nor mad," said Sunderland calmly. "And grief is a thing that may be mastered. He should go to Flanders in May and take command of the allies." "It is impossible!" broke out Sidney. "Did you mark him but now? He hardly lifts his eyes from the floor, and I have not heard him speak one word these ten days." Sunderland answered quietly— "A man who hath done what he hath cannot utterly sink into apathy—there is a spirit in him which must respond, if it be but rightly called upon." "Will _you_ assay to rouse His Majesty?" asked Portland haughtily. Sunderland’s long eyes narrowed. "I am bold to try where your lordship hath failed," he said, with a deference that was like insolence; "but it is a question of great matters, and I will make the trial." "You will make it in vain, my lord," answered Romney. "The King is beyond even your arts." Sunderland delicately lifted his shoulders. "We can but see." He looked rather cynically round the other three men. "If the King is out of the reach of reason it is as well we should know it, my lords."