Rosa nearly swooned, for Cornelius was designated as a dangerous prisoner, and recommended by the Prince to the especial surveillance of the jailer.
Nothing could have been more agreeable to Boxtel than this question.
“This prisoner,” he said, “is a man whose name in itself will prove to your Highness what trust you may place in his probity. He is a prisoner of state, who was once condemned to death.”
“And his name?”
Rosa hid her face in her hands with a movement of despair.
“His name is Cornelius van Baerle,” said Boxtel, “and he is godson of that villain Cornelius de Witt.”
The Prince gave a start, his generally quiet eye flashed, and a deathlike paleness spread over his impassible features.
He went up to Rosa, and with his finger, gave her a sign to remove her hands from her face.
Rosa obeyed, as if under mesmeric influence, without having seen the sign.
“It was, then to follow this man that you came to me at Leyden to solicit for the transfer of your father?”
Rosa hung down her head, and, nearly choking, said—
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Go on,” said the Prince to Boxtel.
“I have nothing more to say,” Isaac continued. “Your Highness knows all. But there is one thing which I did not intend to say, because I did not wish to make this girl blush for her ingratitude. I came to Loewestein because I had business there. On this occasion I made the acquaintance of old Gryphus, and, falling in love with his daughter, made an offer of marriage to her; and, not being rich, I committed the imprudence of mentioning to them my prospect of gaining a hundred thousand guilders, in proof of which I showed to them the black tulip. Her lover having himself made a show at Dort of cultivating tulips to hide his political intrigues, they now plotted together for my ruin. On the eve of the day when the flower was expected to open, the tulip was taken away by this young woman. She carried it to her room, from which I had the good luck to recover it at the very moment when she had the impudence to despatch a messenger to announce to the members of the Horticultural Society that she had produced the grand black tulip. But she did not stop there. There is no doubt that, during the few hours which she kept the flower in her room, she showed it to some persons whom she may now call as witnesses. But, fortunately, your Highness has now been warned against this impostor and her witnesses.”
“Oh, my God, my God! what infamous falsehoods!” said Rosa, bursting into tears, and throwing herself at the feet of the Stadtholder, who, although thinking her guilty, felt pity for her dreadful agony.
“You have done very wrong, my child,” he said, “and your lover shall be punished for having thus badly advised you. For you are so young, and have such an honest look, that I am inclined to believe the mischief to have been his doing, and not yours.”
“Monseigneur! Monseigneur!” cried Rosa, “Cornelius is not guilty.”
William started.
“Not guilty of having advised you? that’s what you want to say, is it not?”
“What I wish to say, your Highness, is that Cornelius is as little guilty of the second crime imputed to him as he was of the first.”
“Of the first? And do you know what was his first crime? Do you know of what he was accused and convicted? Of having, as an accomplice of Cornelius de Witt, concealed the correspondence of the Grand Pensionary and the Marquis de Louvois.”
“Well, sir, he was ignorant of this correspondence being deposited with him; completely ignorant. I am as certain as of my life, that, if it were not so, he would have told me; for how could that pure mind have harboured a secret without revealing it to me? No, no, your Highness, I repeat it, and even at the risk of incurring your displeasure, Cornelius is no more guilty of the first crime than of the second; and of the second no more than of the first. Oh, would to Heaven that you knew my Cornelius; Monseigneur!”
“He is a De Witt!” cried Boxtel. “His Highness knows only too much of him, having once granted him his life.”
“Silence!” said the Prince; “all these affairs of state, as I have already said, are completely out of the province of the Horticultural Society of Haarlem.”
Then, knitting his brow, he added—
“As to the tulip, make yourself easy, Master Boxtel, you shall have justice done to you.”
Boxtel bowed with a heart full of joy, and received the congratulations of the President.
“You, my child,” William of Orange continued, “you were going to commit a crime. I will not punish you; but the real evildoer shall pay the penalty for both. A man of his name may be a conspirator, and even a traitor, but he ought not to be a thief.”
“A thief!” cried Rosa. “Cornelius a thief? Pray, your Highness, do not say such a word, it would kill him, if he knew it. If theft there has been, I swear to you, Sir, no one else but this man has committed it.”
“Prove it,” Boxtel coolly remarked.
“I shall prove it. With God’s help I shall.”
Then, turning towards Boxtel, she asked—
“The tulip is yours?”
“It is.”
“How many bulbs were there of it?”
Boxtel hesitated for a moment, but after a short consideration he came to the conclusion that she would not ask this question if there were none besides the two bulbs of which he had known already. He therefore answered—
“Three.”
“What has become of these bulbs?”
“Oh! what has become of them? Well, one has failed; the second has produced the black tulip.”
“And the third?”
“The third!”
“The third—where is it?”
“I have it at home,” said Boxtel, quite confused.
“At home? Where? At Loewestein, or at Dort?”
“At Dort,” said Boxtel.
“You lie!” cried Rosa. “Monseigneur,” she continued, whilst turning round to the Prince, “I will tell you the true story of these three bulbs. The first was crushed by
