As soon as that event was known at Paris, Lewis directed Tallard to sound William as to a new treaty.  The first thought which occurred to William was that it might be possible to put the Elector of Bavaria in his son’s place.  But this suggestion was coldly received at Versailles, and not without reason.  If, indeed, the young Francis Joseph had lived to succeed Charles, and had then died a minor without issue, the case would have been very different.  Then the Elector would have been actually administering the government of the Spanish monarchy, and, supported by France, England and the United Provinces, might without much difficulty have continued to rule as King the empire which he had begun to rule as Regent.  He would have had also, not indeed a right, but something which to the vulgar would have looked like a right, to be his son’s heir.  Now he was altogether unconnected with Spain.  No more reason could be given for selecting him to be the Catholic King than for selecting the Margrave of Baden or the Grand Duke of Tuscany.  Something was said about Victor Amadeus of Savoy, and something about the King of Portugal; but to both there were insurmountable objections.  It seemed, therefore, that the only choice was between a French Prince and an Austrian Prince; and William learned, with agreeable surprise, that Lewis might possibly be induced to suffer the younger Archduke to be King of Spain and the Indies.  It was intimated at the same time that the House of Bourbon would expect, in return for so great a concession to the rival House of Habsburg, greater advantages than had been thought sufficient when the Dauphin consented to waive his claims in favour of a candidate whose elevation could cause no jealousies.  What Lewis demanded, in addition to the portion formerly assigned to France, was the Milanese.  With the Milanese he proposed to buy Lorraine from its Duke.  To the Duke of Lorraine this arrangement would have been beneficial, and to the people of Lorraine more beneficial still.  They were, and had long been, in a singularly unhappy situation.  Lewis domineered over them as if they had been his subjects, and troubled himself as little about their happiness as if they had been his enemies.  Since he exercised as absolute a power over them as over the Normans and Burgundians, it was desirable that he should have as great an interest in their welfare as in the welfare of the Normans and Burgundians.

On the basis proposed by France William was willing to negotiate; and, when, in June 1699, he left Kensington to pass the summer at Loo, the terms of the treaty known as the Second Treaty of Partition were very nearly adjusted.  The great object now was to obtain the consent of the Emperor.  That consent, it should seem, ought to have been readily and even eagerly given.  Had it been given, it might perhaps have saved Christendom from a war of eleven years.  But the policy of Austria was, at that time, strangely dilatory and irresolute.  It was in vain that William and Heinsius represented the importance of every hour.  “The Emperor’s ministers go on dawdling,” so the King wrote to Heinsius, “not because there is any difficulty about the matter, not because they mean to reject the terms, but solely because they are people who can make up their minds to nothing.”  While the negotiation at Vienna was thus drawn out into endless length, evil tidings came from Madrid.