He was brought to the recorder's house, whence, after some delay, he was
conveyed to the palace. Here he was received by an unknown and silent
attendant, who took him by the hand and led him through entirely deserted
corridors and halls. Not a human being was seen nor a sound heard until
his conductor at last reached the door of an inner apartment through
which he ushered him, without speaking a syllable. The monk then found
himself in the presence of two personages, seated at a table covered with
books and papers. One was in military undress, with an air about him of
habitual command, a fair-complexioned man of middle age, inclining to
baldness, rather stout, with a large blue eye, regular features, and a
mouse-coloured beard. The other was in the velvet cloak and grave
habiliments of a civil functionary, apparently sixty years of age, with a
massive features, and a shaggy beard. The soldier was Maurice of Nassau,
the statesman was John of Olden-Barneveld.

Both rose as the friar entered, and greeted him with cordiality.

"But," said the prince, "how did you dare to enter the Hague, relying
only on the word of a Beggar?"

"Who would not confide," replied Neyen, "in the word of so exalted, so
respectable a Beggar as you, O most excellent prince?"

With these facetious words began the negotiations through which an
earnest attempt was at last to be made for terminating a seemingly
immortal war. The conversation, thus begun, rolled amicably and
informally along. The monk produced letters from the archdukes, in
which, as he stated, the truly royal soul of the writers shone
conspicuously forth. Without a thought for their own advantage, he
observed, and moved only by a contemplation of the tears shed by so many