The President was drawing up a report to the committee of the society.
This report was written on large-sized paper, in the finest handwriting of the President.
Rosa was announced simply as Rosa Gryphus; but as her name, well as it might sound, was unknown to the President, she was refused admittance.
Rosa, however, was by no means abashed, having vowed in her heart, in pursuing her cause, not to allow herself to be put down either by refusal, or abuse, or even brutality.
“Announce to the President,” she said to the servant, “that I want to speak to him about the black tulip.”
These words seemed to be an “Open Sesame,” for she soon found herself in the office of the President, Van Systens, who gallantly rose from his chair to meet her.
He was a spare little man, resembling the stem of a flower, his head forming its chalice, and his two limp arms representing the double leaf of the tulip; the resemblance was rendered complete by his waddling gait which made him even more like that flower when it bends under a breeze.
“Well, miss,” he said, “you are coming, I am told, about the affair of the black tulip.”
To the President of the Horticultural Society the Tulipa nigra was a first-rate power, which, in its character as queen of the tulips, might send ambassadors.
“Yes, sir,” answered Rosa; “I come at least to speak of it.”
“Is it doing well, then?” asked Van Systens, with a smile of tender veneration.
“Alas! sir, I don’t know,” said Rosa.
“How is that? could any misfortune have happened to it?”
“A very great one, sir; yet not to it, but to me.”
“What?”
“It has been stolen from me.”
“Stolen! the black tulip?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know the thief?”
“I have my suspicions, but I must not yet accuse anyone.”
“But the matter may very easily be ascertained.”
“How is that?”
“As it has been stolen from you, the thief cannot be far off.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have seen the black tulip only two hours ago.”
“You have seen the black tulip!” cried Rosa, rushing up to Mynheer van Systens.
“As I see you, miss.”
“But where?”
“Well, with your master, of course.”
“With my master?”
“Yes, are you not in the service of Master Isaac Boxtel?”
“I?”
“Yes, you.”
“But for whom do you take me, sir?”
“And for whom do you take me?”
“I hope, sir, I take you for what you are—that is to say, for the honorable Mynheer van Systens, Burgomaster of Haarlem, and President of the Horticultural Society.”
“And what is it you told me just now?”
“I told you, sir, that my tulip has been stolen.”
“Then your tulip is that of Mynheer Boxtel. Well, my child, you express yourself very badly. The tulip has been stolen, not from you, but from Mynheer Boxtel.”
“I repeat to you, sir, that I do not know who this Mynheer Boxtel is, and that I have now heard his name pronounced for the first time.”
“You do not know who Mynheer Boxtel is, and you also had a black tulip?”
“But is there any other besides mine?” asked Rosa, trembling.
“Yes—that of Mynheer Boxtel.”
“How is it?”
“Black, of course.”
“Without speck?”
“Without a single speck, or even point.”
“And you have this tulip—you have it deposited here?”
“No, but it will be, as it has to be exhibited before the committee previous to the prize being awarded.”
“Oh, sir!” cried Rosa, “this Boxtel—this Isaac Boxtel—who calls himself the owner of the black tulip—”
“And who is its owner?”
“Is he not a very thin man?”
“Bald?”
“Yes.”
“With sunken eyes?”
“I think he has.”
“Restless, stooping, and bowlegged?”
“In truth, you draw Master Boxtel’s portrait feature by feature.”
“And the tulip, sir? Is it not in a pot of white and blue earthenware, with yellowish flowers in a basket on three sides?”
“Oh, as to that I am not quite sure; I looked more at the flower than at the pot.”
“Oh, sir! that’s my tulip, which has been stolen from me. I came here to reclaim it before you and from you.”
“Oh! oh!” said Van Systens, looking at Rosa. “What! you are here to claim the tulip of Master Boxtel? Well, I must say, you are cool enough.”
“Honoured sir,” a little put out by this apostrophe, “I do not say that I am coming to claim the tulip of Master Boxtel, but to reclaim my own.”
“Yours?”
“Yes, the one which I have myself planted and nursed.”
“Well, then, go and find out Master Boxtel, at the White Swan Inn, and you can then settle matters with him; as for me, considering that the cause seems to me as difficult to judge as that which was brought before King Solomon, and that I do not pretend to be as wise as he was, I shall content myself with making my report, establishing the existence of the black tulip, and ordering the hundred thousand guilders to be paid to its grower. Goodbye, my child.”
“Oh, sir, sir!” said Rosa, imploringly.
“Only, my child,” continued Van Systens, “as you are young and pretty, and as there may be still some good in you, I’ll give you some good advice. Be prudent in this matter, for we have a court of justice and a prison here at Haarlem, and, moreover, we are exceedingly ticklish as far as the honour of our tulips is concerned. Go, my child, go, remember, Master Isaac Boxtel at the White Swan Inn.”
And Mynheer van Systens, taking up his fine pen, resumed his report, which had been interrupted by Rosa’s visit.
XXVI
A Member of the Horticultural Society
Rosa, beyond herself and nearly mad with joy and fear at the idea of the black tulip being found again, started for the White Swan, followed by the boatman, a stout lad from Frisia, who was strong enough to knock down a dozen Boxtels single-handed.
He had been made acquainted in the course of the journey with the state of affairs, and was not afraid of any encounter; only he had orders, in such a case, to spare the tulip.
But on arriving in the great marketplace Rosa at once stopped, a sudden thought had struck her, just as Homer’s Minerva
