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the earth?"

"You may make yourself comfortable on that score," said
Rosa, smiling; "your bulb is not growing in water."

"I breathe again."
"It is in a good, sound stone pot, just about the size of

the jug in which you had planted yours. The soil is composed
of three parts of common mould, taken from the best spot of

the garden, and one of the sweepings of the road. I have
heard you and that detestable Jacob, as you call him, so

often talk about what is the soil best fitted for growing
tulips, that I know it as well as the first gardener of

Haarlem."
"And now what is the aspect, Rosa?"

"At present it has the sun all day long, -- that is to say
when the sun shines. But when it once peeps out of the

ground, I shall do as you have done here, dear Mynheer
Cornelius: I shall put it out of my window on the eastern

side from eight in the morning until eleven and in my window
towards the west from three to five in the afternoon."

"That's it! that's it!" cried Cornelius; "and you are a
perfect gardener, my pretty Rosa. But I am afraid the

nursing of my tulip will take up all your time."
"Yes, it will," said Rosa; "but never mind. Your tulip is my

daughter. I shall devote to it the same time as I should to
a child of mine, if I were a mother. Only by becoming its

mother," Rosa added, smilingly, "can I cease to be its
rival."

"My kind and pretty Rosa!" muttered Cornelius casting on her
a glance in which there was much more of the lover than of

the gardener, and which afforded Rosa some consolation.
Then, after a silence of some moments, during which

Cornelius had grasped through the openings of the grating
for the receding hand of Rosa, he said, --

"Do you mean to say that the bulb has now been in the ground
for six days?"

"Yes, six days, Mynheer Cornelius," she answered.
"And it does not yet show leaf"

"No, but I think it will to-morrow."
"Well, then, to-morrow you will bring me news about it, and

about yourself, won't you, Rosa? I care very much for the
daughter, as you called it just now, but I care even much

more for the mother."
"To-morrow?" said Rosa, looking at Cornelius askance. "I

don't know whether I shall be able to come to-morrow."
"Good heavens!" said Cornelius, "why can't you come

to-morrow?"
"Mynheer Cornelius, I have lots of things to do."

"And I have only one," muttered Cornelius.
"Yes," said Rosa, "to love your tulip."

"To love you, Rosa."
Rosa shook her head, after which followed a pause.

"Well," -- Cornelius at last broke the silence, -- "well,
Rosa, everything changes in the realm of nature; the flowers

of spring are succeeded by other flowers; and the bees,
which so tenderly caressed the violets and the wall-flowers,

will flutter with just as much love about the honey-suckles,
the rose, the jessamine, and the carnation."

"What does all this mean?" asked Rosa.
"You have abandoned me, Miss Rosa, to seek your pleasure

elsewhere. You have done well, and I will not complain. What
claim have I to your fidelity?"

"My fidelity!" Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears,
and without caring any longer to hide from Cornelius this

dew of pearls dropping on her cheeks, "my fidelity! have I
not been faithful to you?"

"Do you call it faithful to desert me, and to leave me here
to die?"

"But, Mynheer Cornelius," said Rosa, "am I not doing
everything for you that could give you pleasure? have I not

devoted myself to your tulip?"
"You are bitter, Rosa, you reproach me with the only

unalloyed pleasure which I have had in this world."
"I reproach you with nothing, Mynheer Cornelius, except,

perhaps, with the intense grief which I felt when people
came to tell me at the Buytenhof that you were about to be

put to death."
"You are displeased, Rosa, my sweet girl, with my loving

flowers."
"I am not displeased with your loving them, Mynheer

Cornelius, only it makes me sad to think that you love them
better than you do me."

"Oh, my dear, dear Rosa! look how my hands tremble; look at
my pale cheek, hear how my heart beats. It is for you, my

love, not for the black tulip. Destroy the bulb, destroy the
germ of that flower, extinguish the gentle light of that

innocent and delightful dream, to which I have accustomed
myself; but love me, Rosa, love me; for I feel deeply that I

love but you."
"Yes, after the black tulip," sighed Rosa, who at last no

longer coyly withdrew her warm hands from the grating, as
Cornelius most affectionately kissed them.

"Above and before everything in this world, Rosa."
"May I believe you?"

"As you believe in your own existence."
"Well, then, be it so; but loving me does not bind you too

much."
"Unfortunately, it does not bind me more than I am bound;

but it binds you, Rosa, you."
"To what?"

"First of all, not to marry."
She smiled.

"That's your way," she said; "you are tyrants all of you.
You worship a certain beauty, you think of nothing but her.

Then you are condemned to death, and whilst walking to the
scaffold, you devote to her your last sigh; and now you

expect poor me to sacrifice to you all my dreams and my
happiness."

"But who is the beauty you are talking of, Rosa?" said
Cornelius, trying in vain to remember a woman to whom Rosa

might possibly be alluding.
"The dark beauty with a slender waist, small feet, and a

noble head; in short, I am speaking of your flower."
Cornelius smiled.

"That is an imaginary lady love, at all events; whereas,
without counting that amorous Jacob, you by your own account

are surrounded with all sorts of swains eager to make love
to you. Do you remember Rosa, what you told me of the

students, officers, and clerks of the Hague? Are there no
clerks, officers, or students at Loewestein?"

"Indeed there are, and lots of them."
"Who write letters?"

"They do write."
"And now, as you know how to read ---- "

Here Cornelius heaved a sigh at the thought, that, poor
captive as he was, to him alone Rosa owed the faculty of

reading the love-letters which she received.
"As to that," said Rosa, "I think that in reading the notes

addressed to me, and passing the different swains in review
who send them to me, I am only following your instructions."

"How so? My instructions?"
"Indeed, your instructions, sir," said Rosa, sighing in her

turn; "have you forgotten the will written by your hand on
the Bible of Cornelius de Witt? I have not forgotten it; for

now, as I know how to read, I read it every day over and
over again. In that will you bid me to love and marry a

handsome young man of twenty-six or eight years. I am on the
look-out for that young man, and as the whole of my day is

taken up with your tulip, you must needs leave me the
evenings to find him."

"But, Rosa, the will was made in the expectation of death,
and, thanks to Heaven, I am still alive."

"Well, then, I shall not be after the handsome young man,
and I shall come to see you."

"That's it, Rosa, come! come!"
"Under one condition."

"Granted beforehand!"
"That the black tulip shall not be mentioned for the next

three days."
"It shall never be mentioned any more, if you wish it,

Rosa."
"No, no," the damsel said, laughing, "I will not ask for

impossibilities."
And, saying this, she brought her fresh cheek, as if

unconsciously, so near the iron grating, that Cornelius was
able to touch it with his lips.

Rosa uttered a little scream, which, however, was full of
love, and disappeared.

Chapter 21
The Second Bulb

The night was a happy one, and the whole of the next day
happier still.

During the last few days, the prison had been heavy, dark,
and lowering, as it were, with all its weight on the

unfortunate captive. Its walls were black, its air chilling,
the iron bars seemed to exclude every ray of light.

But when Cornelius awoke next morning, a beam of the morning
sun was playing about those iron bars; pigeons were hovering

about with outspread wings, whilst others were lovingly
cooing on the roof or near the still closed window.

Cornelius ran to that window and opened it; it seemed to him
as if new life, and joy, and liberty itself were entering

with this sunbeam into his cell, which, so dreary of late,
was now cheered and irradiated by the light of love.

When Gryphus, therefore, came to see his prisoner in the
morning, he no longer found him morose and lying in bed, but

standing at the window, and singing a little ditty.
"Halloa!" exclaimed the jailer.

"How are you this morning?" asked Cornelius.
Gryphus looked at him with a scowl.

"And how is the dog, and Master Jacob, and our pretty Rosa?"
Gryphus ground his teeth, saying. --

"Here is your breakfast."
"Thank you, friend Cerberus," said the prisoner; "you are

just in time; I am very hungry."
"Oh! you are hungry, are you?" said Gryphus.

"And why not?" asked Van Baerle.
"The conspiracy seems to thrive," remarked Gryphus.

"What conspiracy?"
"Very well, I know what I know, Master Scholar; just be

quiet, we shall be on our guard."
"Be on your guard, friend Gryphus; be on your guard as long

as you please; my conspiracy, as well as my person, is
entirely at your service."

"We'll see that at noon."
Saying this, Gryphus went out.

"At noon?" repeated Cornelius; "what does that mean? Well,
let us wait until the clock strikes twelve, and we shall

see."
It was very easy for Cornelius to wait for twelve at midday,

as he was already waiting for nine at night.
It struck twelve, and there were heard on the staircase not



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