The Black Tulip by Alexandre Dumas (read the beginning after the end novel TXT) 📖

shoulders, turned my back, and advanced towards the door.

“But I was kept by something which I heard, although it was uttered in a very low voice only.

“Jacob said to my father,—

“‘It would not be so difficult to ascertain that.’

“‘How so?’

“‘You need only search his person: and if he has the other bulbs, we shall find them, as there usually are three suckers!’”

“Three suckers!” cried Cornelius. “Did you say that I have three?”

“The word certainly struck me just as much as it does you. I turned round. They were both of them so deeply engaged in their conversation that they did not observe my movement.

“‘But,’ said my father, ‘perhaps he has not got his bulbs about him?’

“‘Then take him down, under some pretext or other and I will search his cell in the meanwhile.’”

“Halloa, halloa!” said Cornelius. “But this Mr. Jacob of yours is a villain, it seems.”

“I am afraid he is.”

“Tell me, Rosa,” continued Cornelius, with a pensive air.

“What?”

“Did you not tell me that on the day when you prepared your borders this man followed you?”

“So he did.”

“That he glided like a shadow behind the elder trees?”

“Certainly.”

“That not one of your movements escaped him?”

“Not one, indeed.”

“Rosa,” said Cornelius, growing quite pale.

“Well?”

“It was not you he was after.”

“Who else, then?”

“It is not you that he was in love with!”

“But with whom else?”

“He was after my bulb, and is in love with my tulip!”

“You don’t say so! And yet it is very possible,” said Rosa.

“Will you make sure of it?”

“In what manner?”

“Oh, it would be very easy!”

“Tell me.”

“Go to-morrow into the garden; manage matters so that Jacob may know, as he did the first time, that you are going there, and that he may follow you. Feign to put the bulb into the ground; leave the garden, but look through the keyhole of the door and watch him.”

“Well, and what then?”

“What then? We shall do as he does.”

“Oh!” said Rosa, with a sigh, “you are very fond of your bulbs.”

“To tell the truth,” said the prisoner, sighing likewise, “since your father crushed that unfortunate bulb, I feel as if part of my own self had been paralyzed.”

“Now just hear me,” said Rosa; “will you try something else?”

“What?”

“Will you accept the proposition of my father?”

“Which proposition?”

“Did not he offer to you tulip bulbs by hundreds?”

“Indeed he did.”

“Accept two or three, and, along with them, you may grow the third sucker.”

“Yes, that would do very well,” said Cornelius, knitting his brow; “if your father were alone, but there is that Master Jacob, who watches all our ways.”

“Well, that is true; but only think! you are depriving yourself, as I can easily see, of a very great pleasure.”

She pronounced these words with a smile, which was not altogether without a tinge of irony.

Cornelius reflected for a moment; he evidently was struggling against some vehement desire.

“No!” he cried at last, with the stoicism of a Roman of old, “it would be a weakness, it would be a folly, it would be a meanness! If I thus give up the only and last resource which we possess to the uncertain chances of the bad passions of anger and envy, I should never deserve to be forgiven. No, Rosa, no; to-morrow we shall come to a conclusion as to the spot to be chosen for your tulip; you will plant it according to my instructions; and as to the third sucker,”—Cornelius here heaved a deep sigh,—“watch over it as a miser over his first or last piece of gold; as the mother over her child; as the wounded over the last drop of blood in his veins; watch over it, Rosa! Some voice within me tells me that it will be our saving, that it will be a source of good to us.”

“Be easy, Mynheer Cornelius,” said Rosa, with a sweet mixture of melancholy and gravity, “be easy; your wishes are commands to me.”

“And even,” continued Van Baerle, warming more and more with his subject, “if you should perceive that your steps are watched, and that your speech has excited the suspicion of your father and of that detestable Master Jacob,—well, Rosa, don’t hesitate for one moment to sacrifice me, who am only still living through you,—me, who have no one in the world but you; sacrifice me,—don’t come to see me any more.”

Rosa felt her heart sink within her, and her eyes were filling with tears.

“Alas!” she said.

“What is it?” asked Cornelius.

“I see one thing.”

“What do you see?”

“I see,” said she, bursting out in sobs, “I see that you love your tulips with such love as to have no more room in your heart left for other affections.”

Saying this, she fled.

Cornelius, after this, passed one of the worst nights he ever had in his life.

Rosa was vexed with him, and with good reason. Perhaps she would never return to see the prisoner, and then he would have no more news, either of Rosa or of his tulips.

We have to confess, to the disgrace of our hero and of floriculture, that of his two affections he felt most strongly inclined to regret the loss of Rosa; and when, at about three in the morning, he fell asleep overcome with fatigue, and harassed with remorse, the grand black tulip yielded precedence in his dreams to the sweet blue eyes of the fair maid of Friesland.