Cornelius had not three hundred paces to walk outside theprison to reach the foot of the scaffold. At the bottom ofthe staircase, the dog quietly looked at him whilst he waspassing; Cornelius even fancied he saw in the eyes of themonster a certain expression as it were of compassion.

　　The dog perhaps knew the condemned prisoners, and only bitthose who left as free men.

　　The shorter the way from the door of the prison to the footof the scaffold, the more fully, of course, it was crowdedwith curious people.

　　These were the same who, not satisfied with the blood whichthey had shed three days before, were now craving for a newvictim.

　　And scarcely had Cornelius made his appearance than a fiercegroan ran through the whole street, spreading all over theyard, and re-echoing from the streets which led to thescaffold, and which were likewise crowded with spectators.

　　The scaffold indeed looked like an islet at the confluenceof several rivers.

　　In the midst of these threats, groans, and yells, Cornelius,very likely in order not to hear them, had buried himself inhis own thoughts.

　　And what did he think of in his last melancholy journey?

　　Neither of his enemies, nor of his judges, nor of hisexecutioners.

　　He thought of the beautiful tulips which he would see fromheaven above, at Ceylon, or Bengal, or elsewhere, when hewould be able to look with pity on this earth, where Johnand Cornelius de Witt had been murdered for having thoughttoo much of politics, and where Cornelius van Baerle wasabout to be murdered for having thought too much of tulips.

　　"It is only one stroke of the axe," said the philosopher tohimself, "and my beautiful dream will begin to be realised."Only there was still a chance, just as it had happenedbefore to M. de Chalais, to M. de Thou, and other slovenlyexecuted people, that the headsman might inflict more thanone stroke, that is to say, more than one martyrdom, on thepoor tulip-fancier.

　　Yet, notwithstanding all this, Van Baerle mounted thescaffold not the less resolutely, proud of having been thefriend of that illustrious John, and godson of that nobleCornelius de Witt, whom the ruffians, who were now crowdingto witness his own doom, had torn to pieces and burnt threedays before.

　　He knelt down, said his prayers, and observed, not without afeeling of sincere joy, that, laying his head on the block,and keeping his eyes open, he would be able to his lastmoment to see the grated window of the Buytenhof.

　　At length the fatal moment arrived, and Cornelius placed hischin on the cold damp block. But at this moment his eyesclosed involuntarily, to receive more resolutely theterrible avalanche which was about to fall on his head, andto engulf his life.

　　A gleam like that of lightning passed across the scaffold:

　　it was the executioner raising his sword.

　　Van Baerle bade farewell to the great black tulip, certainof awaking in another world full of light and glorioustints.

　　Three times he felt, with a shudder, the cold current of airfrom the knife near his neck, but what a surprise! he ............