Rosa advanced a few steps towards the table.

"Sit down," he said.
Rosa obeyed, for the Prince was fixing his eyes upon her,

but he had scarcely turned them again to his paper when she
bashfully retired to the door.

The Prince finished his letter.
During this time, the greyhound went up to Rosa, surveyed

her and began to caress her.
"Ah, ah!" said William to his dog, "it's easy to see that

she is a countrywoman of yours, and that you recognise her."
Then, turning towards Rosa, and fixing on her his

scrutinising, and at the same time impenetrable glance, he
said, --

"Now, my child."
The Prince was scarcely twenty-three, and Rosa eighteen or

twenty. He might therefore perhaps better have said, My
sister.

"My child," he said, with that strangely commanding accent
which chilled all those who approached him, "we are alone;

let us speak together."
Rosa began to tremble, and yet there was nothing but

kindness in the expression of the Prince's face.
"Monseigneur," she stammered.

"You have a father at Loewestein?"
"Yes, your Highness."

"You do not love him?"
"I do not; at least, not as a daughter ought to do,

Monseigneur."
"It is not right not to love one's father, but it is right

not to tell a falsehood."
Rosa cast her eyes to the ground.

"What is the reason of your not loving your father?"
"He is wicked."

"In what way does he show his wickedness?"
"He ill-treats the prisoners."

"All of them?"
"All."

"But don't you bear him a grudge for ill-treating some one
in particular?"

"My father ill-treats in particular Mynheer van Baerle, who
---- "

"Who is your lover?"
Rosa started back a step.

"Whom I love, Monseigneur," she answered proudly.
"Since when?" asked the Prince.

"Since the day when I first saw him."
"And when was that?"

"The day after that on which the Grand Pensionary John and
his brother Cornelius met with such an awful death."

The Prince compressed his lips, and knit his brow and his
eyelids dropped so as to hide his eyes for an instant. After

a momentary silence, he resumed the conversation.
"But to what can it lead to love a man who is doomed to live

and die in prison?"
"It will lead, if he lives and dies in prison, to my aiding

him in life and in death."
"And would you accept the lot of being the wife of a

prisoner?"
"As the wife of Mynheer van Baerle, I should, under any

circumstances, be the proudest and happiest woman in the
world; but ---- "

"But what?"
"I dare not say, Monseigneur."

"There is something like hope in your tone; what do you
hope?"

She raised her moist and beautiful eyes, and looked at
William with a glance full of meaning, which was calculated

to stir up in the recesses of his heart the clemency which
was slumbering there.

"Ah, I understand you," he said.
Rosa, with a smile, clasped her hands.

"You hope in me?" said the Prince.
"Yes, Monseigneur."

"Umph!"
The Prince sealed the letter which he had just written, and

summoned one of his officers, to whom he said, --
"Captain van Deken, carry this despatch to Loewestein; you

will read the orders which I give to the Governor, and
execute them as far as they regard you."

The officer bowed, and a few minutes afterwards the gallop
of a horse was heard resounding in the vaulted archway.

"My child," continued the Prince, "the feast of the tulip
will be on Sunday next, that is to say, the day after

to-morrow. Make yourself smart with these five hundred
guilders, as I wish that day to be a great day for you."

"How does your Highness wish me to be dressed?" faltered
Rosa.

"Take the costume of a Frisian bride." said William; "it
will suit you very well indeed."

Chapter 31
Haarlem

Haarlem, whither, three days ago, we conducted our gentle
reader, and whither we request him to follow us once more in

the footsteps of the prisoner, is a pleasant city, which
justly prides itself on being one of the most shady in all

the Netherlands.
While other towns boast of the magnificence of their

arsenals and dock-yards, and the splendour of their shops
and markets, Haarlem's claims to fame rest upon her

superiority to all other provincial cities in the number and
beauty of her spreading elms, graceful poplars, and, more

than all, upon her pleasant walks, shaded by the lovely
arches of magnificent oaks, lindens, and chestnuts.

Haarlem, -- just as her neighbour, Leyden, became the centre
of science, and her queen, Amsterdam, that of commerce, --

Haarlem preferred to be the agricultural, or, more strictly
speaking, the horticultural metropolis.

In fact, girt about as she was, breezy and exposed to the
sun's hot rays, she seemed to offer to gardeners so many

more guarantees of success than other places, with their
heavy sea air, and their scorching heat.

On this account all the serene souls who loved the earth and
its fruits had gradually gathered together at Haarlem, just

as all the nervous, uneasy spirits, whose ambition was for
travel and commerce, had settled in Rotterdam and Amsterdam,

and all the politicians and selfish worldlings at the Hague.
We have observed that Leyden overflowed with scholars. In

like manner Haarlem was devoted to the gentle pursuits of
peace, -- to music and painting, orchards and avenues,

groves and parks. Haarlem went wild about flowers, and
tulips received their full share of worship.

Haarlem offered prizes for tulip-growing; and this fact
brings us in the most natural manner to that celebration

which the city intended to hold on May 15th, 1673 in honour
of the great black tulip, immaculate and perfect, which

should gain for its discoverer one hundred thousand
guilders!