“What animal?”
“Man. You comprehend, my dear Rosa, a man may steal a guilder, and risk the prison for such a trifle, and, consequently, it is much more likely that some one might steal a hundred thousand guilders.”
“No one ever enters the garden but myself.”
“Thank you, thank you, my dear Rosa. All the joy of my life has still to come from you.”
And as the lips of Van Baerle approached the grating with the same ardour as the day before, and as, moreover, the hour for retiring had struck, Rosa drew back her head, and stretched out her hand.
In this pretty little hand, of which the coquettish damsel was particularly proud, was the bulb.
Cornelius kissed most tenderly the tips of her fingers.
Did he do so because his hand kept one of the bulbs of the Grand Black Tulip, or because this hand was Rosa’s? We shall leave this point to the decision of wiser heads than ours.
Rosa withdrew with the two other suckers, pressing them to her heart.
Did she press them to her heart because they were the bulbs of the Grand Black Tulip, or because she had them from Cornelius?
This point, we believe, might be more readily decided than the other.
However that may have been, from that moment life became sweet, and again full of interest to the prisoner.
Rosa, as we have seen, had returned to him one of the suckers.
Every evening she brought to him, handful by handful, a quantity of soil from that part of the garden which he had found to be the best, and which, indeed, was excellent.
