But poor Rosa, in her secluded chamber, could not have knownof whom or of what Cornelius was dreaming.

　　From what he had said she was more ready to believe that hedreamed of the black tulip than of her; and yet Rosa wasmistaken.

　　But as there was no one to tell her so, and as the words ofCornelius's thoughtless speech had fallen upon her heartlike drops of poison, she did not dream, but she wept.

　　The fact was, that, as Rosa was a high-spirited creature, ofno mean perception and a noble heart, she took a very clearand judicious view of her own social position, if not of hermoral and physical qualities.

　　Cornelius was a scholar, and was wealthy, -- at least he hadbeen before the confiscation of his property; Corneliusbelonged to the merchant-bourgeoisie, who were prouder oftheir richly emblazoned shop signs than the hereditarynobility of their heraldic bearings. Therefore, although hemight find Rosa a pleasant companion for the dreary hours ofhis captivity, when it came to a question of bestowing hisheart it was almost certain that he would bestow it upon atulip, -- that is to say, upon the proudest and noblest offlowers, rather than upon poor Rosa, the jailer's lowlychild.

　　Thus Rosa understood Cornelius's preference of the tulip toherself, but was only so much the more unhappy therefor.

　　During the whole of this terrible night the poor girl didnot close an eye, and before she rose in the morning she hadcome to the resolution of making her appearance at thegrated window no more.

　　But as she knew with what ardent desire Cornelius lookedforward to the news about his tulip; and as, notwithstandingher determination not to see any more a man her pity forwhose fate was fast growing into love, she did not, on theother hand, wish to drive him to despair, she resolved tocontinue by herself the reading and writing lessons; and,fortunately, she had made sufficient progress to dispensewith the help of a master when the master was not to beCornelius.

　　Rosa therefore applied herself most diligently to readingpoor Cornelius de Witt's Bible, on the second fly leaf ofwhich the last will of Cornelius van Baerle was written.

　　"Alas!" she muttered, when perusing again this document,which she never finished without a tear, the pearl of love,rolling from her limpid eyes on her pale cheeks -- "alas! atthat time I thought for one moment he loved me."Poor Rosa! she was mistaken. Never had the love of theprisoner been more sincere than at the time at which we arenow arrived, when in the contest between the black tulip andRosa the tulip had had to yield to her the first andforemost place in Cornelius's heart.

　　But Rosa was not aware of it.

　　Having finished reading, she took her pen, and began with aslaudable diligence the by far more difficult task ofwriting.

　　As, however, Rosa was already able to write a legible handwhen Cornelius so uncautiously opened his heart, she did notdespair of progressing quickly enough to write, after eightdays at the latest, to the prisoner an account of his tulip.

　　She had not forgotten one word of the directions given toher by Cornelius, whose speeches she treasured in her heart,even when they did not take the shape of directions.

　　He, on his part, awoke deeper in love than ever. The tulip,indeed, was still a luminous and prominent object in hismind; but he no longer looked upon it as a treasure to whichhe ought to sacrifice everything, and even Rosa, but as amarvellous combination of nature and art with which he wouldhave been happy to adorn the bosom of his beloved one.

　　Yet during the whole of that day he was haunted with a vagueuneasiness, at the bottom of which was the fear lest Rosashould not come in the evening to pay him her usual visit.

　　This thought took more and more hold of him, until at theapproach of evening his whole mind was absorbed in it.

　　How his heart beat when darkness closed in! The words whichhe had said to Rosa on the evening before and which had sodeeply afflicted her, now came back to his mind more vividlythan ever, and he asked himself how he could have told hisgentle comforter to sacrifice him to his tulip, -- that isto say, to give up seeing him, if need be, -- whereas to himthe sight of Rosa had become a condition of life.

　　In Cornelius's cell one heard the chimes of the clock of thefortress. It struck seven, it struck eight, it struck nine.

　　Never did the metal voice vibrate more forcibly through theheart of any man than did the last stroke, marking the ninthhour, through the heart of Cornelius.

　　All was then silent again. Cornelius put his hand on hisheart, to repress as it were its violent palpitation, andlistened.

　　The noise of her footstep, the rustling of her gown on thestaircase, were so familiar to his ear, that she had nosooner mounted one step than he used to say to himself, --"Here comes Rosa."This evening none of those little noises broke the silenceof the lobby, the clock struck nine, and a quarter; thehalf-hour, then a quarter to ten, and at last its deep toneannounced, not only to the inmates of the fortress, but alsoto all the inhabitants of Loewestein, that it was ten.

　　This was the hour at which Rosa generally used to leaveCornelius. The hour had struck, but Rosa had not come.

　　Thus then his foreboding had not deceived him; Rosa, beingvexed, shut herself up in her room and left him to himself.

　　"Alas!" he thought, "I have deserved all this. She will comeno more, and she is right in staying away; in her place Ishould do just the same."Yet notwithstanding all this, Cornelius listened, waited,and hoped until midnight, then he threw himself upon thebed, with his clothes on.

　　It was a long and sad night for him, and the day brought nohope to the prisoner.

　　At eight in the morning, the door of his cell opened; butCornelius did not even turn his head; he had heard the heavystep of Gryphus in the lobby, but this step had perfectlysatisfied the prisoner that his jailer wa............