The crowd parted to let him pass, and he went up to the council-chamber, where the faithful Kobus, in his Sunday suit, was awaiting him. He was already going to meet the burgomaster, in order to tell him that “they” were all there; but the great man was looking straight in front of him, as stiff as a poker, and making, in a direct line, for his official chair, like a guest who, on being ushered in, looks neither to right nor left, but makes straight for the lady of the house.
This was “the proper form.” Kobus was so impressed by this ceremonial that he stared with open mouth and eyes, and remained immovable, like a masculine counterpart of Lot’s wife. The burgomaster had elegant manners, that he had.
“Are all present?” asked the burgomaster, suddenly.
Kobus awakened with a start from his ecstatic trance. “Yes, your worship,” he answered, regaining his composure.
“Then the trial may begin,” said the President of the Court. “And you, Veldwachter, do you caligraph it!”
“I—I don’t altogether understand, your worship.”
“Caligraph, Veldwachter!”
“Oh!—ah!—hm—yes, I don’t understand——.”
“Write it down, Veldwachter. Caligraphy—that is the art of writing, you know.”
“All right, your worship.” Kobus sat down at a table, took up a pen, and bent over a sheet of paper. But the paper was destined to remain unsoiled. For, all of a sudden, the burgomaster looked round him, and, probably struck by the emptiness of the room, inquired, “Veldwachter, are all the witnesses present?”