Rosa’s door thus opened without noise and without difficulty, and Boxtel found himself in her room alone with the tulip.
The first guilty act of Boxtel had been to climb over a wall in order to dig up the tulip; the second, to introduce himself into the dry-room of Cornelius, through an open window; and the third, to enter Rosa’s room by means of a false key.
Thus envy urged Boxtel on with rapid steps in the career of crime.
Boxtel, as we have said, was alone with the tulip.
A common thief would have taken the pot under his arm, and carried it off.
But Boxtel was not a common thief, and he reflected.
It was not yet certain, although very probable, that the tulip would flower black; if, therefore, he stole it now, he not only might be committing a useless crime, but also the theft might be discovered in the time which must elapse until the flower should open.
He therefore—as being in possession of the key, he might enter Rosa’s chamber whenever he liked—thought it better to wait and to take it either an hour before or after opening, and to start on the instant to Haarlem, where the tulip would be before the judges of the committee before anyone else could put in a reclamation.
Should anyone then reclaim it, Boxtel would in his turn charge him or her with theft.
This was a deep-laid scheme, and quite worthy of its author.
Thus, every evening during that delightful hour which the two lovers passed together at the grated window, Boxtel entered Rosa’s chamber to watch the progress which the black tulip had made towards flowering.
On the evening at which we have arrived he was going to enter according to custom; but the two lovers, as we have seen, only exchanged a few words before Cornelius sent Rosa back to watch over the tulip.
Seeing Rosa enter her room ten minutes after she had left it, Boxtel guessed that the tulip had opened, or was about to open.
During that night, therefore, the great blow was to be struck. Boxtel presented himself before Gryphus with a double supply of Genièvre, that is to say, with a bottle in each pocket.
Gryphus being once fuddled, Boxtel was very nearly master of the house.
At eleven o’clock Gryphus was dead drunk. At two in the morning Boxtel saw Rosa leaving the chamber; but evidently she held in her arms something which she carried with great care.
He did not doubt that this was the black tulip which was in flower.
But what was she going to do with it? Would she set out that instant to Haarlem with it?
It was not possible that a young girl should undertake such a journey alone during the night.
Was she only going to show the tulip to Cornelius? This was more likely.
He followed Rosa in his stocking feet, walking on tiptoe.
He saw her approach the grated window. He heard her calling Cornelius. By the light of the dark lantern he saw the tulip open, and black as the night in which he was hidden.
He heard the plan concerted between Cornelius and Rosa to send a messenger to Haarlem. He saw the lips of the lovers meet, and then heard Cornelius send Rosa away.
He saw Rosa extinguish the light and return to her chamber. Ten minutes after, he saw her leave the room again, and lock it twice.
Boxtel, who saw all this whilst hiding himself on the landing-place of the staircase above, descended step by step from his story as Rosa descended from hers; so that, when she touched with her light foot the lowest step of the staircase, Boxtel touched with a still lighter hand the lock of Rosa’s chamber.
And in that hand, it must be understood, he held the false key which opened Rosa’s door as easily as did the real one.
And this is why, in the beginning of the chapter, we said that the poor young people were in great need of the protection of God.
XXIV
The Black Tulip Changes Masters
Cornelius remained standing on the spot where Rosa had left him. He was quite overpowered with the weight of his twofold happiness.
Half an hour passed away. Already did the first rays of the sun enter through the iron grating of the prison, when Cornelius was suddenly startled at the noise of steps which came up the staircase, and of cries which approached nearer and nearer.
Almost at the same instant he saw before him the pale and distracted face of Rosa.
He started, and turned pale with fright.
“Cornelius, Cornelius!” she screamed, gasping for breath.
“Good Heaven! what is it?” asked the prisoner.
“Cornelius! the tulip—”
“Well?”
“How shall I tell you?”
“Speak, speak, Rosa!”
“Some one has taken—stolen it from us.”
“Stolen—taken?” said Cornelius.
“Yes,” said Rosa, leaning against the door to support herself; “yes, taken, stolen!”
And saying this, she felt her limbs failing her, and she fell on her knees.
“But how? Tell me, explain to me.”
“Oh, it is not my fault, my friend.”
Poor Rosa! she no longer dared to call him “My beloved one.”
“You have then left it alone,” said Cornelius, ruefully.
“One minute only, to instruct our messenger, who lives scarcely fifty yards off, on the banks of the Waal.”
“And during that time, notwithstanding all my injunctions, you left the key behind, unfortunate child!”
“No, no, no! this is what I cannot understand. The key was never out of my hands; I clinched it as if I were afraid it would take wings.”
“But how did it happen, then?”
“That’s what I cannot make out. I had given the letter to my messenger; he started before I left his house; I came home, and my door was locked, everything in my room was as I had left it, except the tulip—that was gone. Some one must have had a key for my room, or have got a false one made on purpose.”
She was nearly choking with sobs, and was unable to continue.
Cornelius, immovable and full of consternation, heard almost without understanding, and only muttered—
“Stolen, stolen,
