To this demand the Duchess answered somewhat drily that she could not be judge in such a cause.  Time and their future deeds, she observed, could only bear witness as to their purposes.  As for declarations from her, they must be satisfied with the Apostille which they had already received.

With this response, somewhat more tart than agreeable, the nobles were obliged to content themselves, and they accordingly took their leave.

It must be confessed that they had been disposed to slide rather cavalierly over a good deal of ground towards the great object which they had in view.  Certainly the petitio principii was a main feature of their logic.  They had, in their second address, expressed perfect confidence as to two very considerable concessions.  The Duchess was practically to suspend the inquisition, although she had declared herself without authority for that purpose, The King, who claimed, de jure and de facto, the whole legislative power, was thenceforth to make laws on religious matters by and with the consent of the states-general.  Certainly, these ends were very laudable, and if a civil and religious revolution could have been effected by a few gentlemen going to court in fine clothes to present a petition, and by sitting down to a tremendous banquet afterwards, Brederode and his associates were the men to accomplish the task.  Unfortunately, a sea of blood and long years of conflict lay between the nation and the promised land, which for a moment seemed so nearly within reach.

Meantime the next important step in Brederode’s eyes was a dinner.  He accordingly invited the confederates to a magnificent repast which he had ordered to be prepared in the Culemburg mansion.  Three hundred guests sat down, upon the 8th of April, to this luxurious banquet, which was destined to become historical.

The board glittered with silver and gold.  The wine circulated with more than its usual rapidity among the band of noble Bacchanals, who were never weary of drinking the healths of Brederode, of Orange, and of Egmont.  It was thought that the occasion imperiously demanded an extraordinary carouse, and the political events of the past three days lent an additional excitement to the wine.  There was an earnest discussion as to an appropriate name to be given to their confederacy.  Should they call themselves the “Society of Concord,” the restorers of lost liberty, or by what other attractive title should the league be baptized?  Brederode was, however, already prepared to settle the question.  He knew the value of a popular and original name; he possessed the instinct by which adroit partisans in every age have been accustomed to convert the reproachful epithets of their opponents into watchwords of honor, and he had already made his preparations for a startling theatrical effect.  Suddenly, amid the din of voices, he arose, with all his rhetorical powers at command:  He recounted to the company the observations which