Barneveld sat in his prison chamber, occupied as usual in writing,
reviewing the history of the past, and doing his best to reduce into
something like order the rambling and miscellaneous interrogatories, out
of which his trial had been concocted, while the points dwelt in his
memory, and to draw up a concluding argument in his own defence. Work
which according to any equitable, reasonable, or even decent procedure
should have been entrusted to the first lawyers of the country--preparing
the case upon the law and the facts with the documents before them, with
the power of cross-questioning witnesses and sifting evidence, and
enlightened by constant conferences with the illustrious prisoner
himself--came entirely upon his own shoulders, enfeebled as he was
by age, physical illness, and by the exhaustion of along imprisonment.
Without books, notes of evidence, or even copies of the charges of which
he stood accused, he was obliged to draw up his counter-arguments against
the impeachment and then by aid of a faithful valet to conceal his
manuscript behind the tapestry of the chamber, or cause them to be sewed
up in the lining of his easy-chair, lest they should be taken from him by
order of the judges who sat in the chamber below.

While he was thus occupied in preparations for his next encounter with
the tribunal, the door opened, and three gentlemen entered. Two were the
prosecuting officers of the government, Fiscal Sylla and Fiscal van
Leeuwen. The other was the provost-marshal, Carel de Nijs. The servant
was directed to leave the room.

Barneveld had stepped into his dressing-room on hearing footsteps, but
came out again with his long furred gown about him as the three entered.
He greeted them courteously and remained standing, with his hands placed
on the back of his chair and with one knee resting carelessly against the
arm of it. Van Leeuwen asked him if he would not rather be seated, as