“Well?”
“Oh, Rosa, whenever it opens, remember that not a moment
must be lost in apprising the President.”
“And in apprising you. Yes, I understand.”
Rosa sighed, yet without any bitter feeling, but rather like
a woman who begins to understand a foible, and to accustom
herself to it.
“I return to your tulip, Mynheer van Baerle, and as soon as
it opens I will give you news, which being done the
messenger will set out immediately.”
“Rosa, Rosa, I don’t know to what wonder under the sun I
shall compare you.”
“Compare me to the black tulip, and I promise you I shall
feel very much flattered. Good night, then, till we meet
again, Mynheer Cornelius.”
“Oh, say ‘Good night, my friend.'”
“Good night, my friend,” said Rosa, a little consoled.
“Say, ‘My very dear friend.'”
“Oh, my friend — ”
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“Very dear friend, I entreat you, say ‘very dear,’ Rosa,
very dear.”
“Very dear, yes, very dear,” said Rosa, with a beating
heart, beyond herself with happiness.
“And now that you have said ‘very dear,’ dear Rosa, say also
‘most happy’: say ‘happier and more blessed than ever man
was under the sun.’ I only lack one thing, Rosa.”
“And that is?”
“Your cheek, — your fresh cheek, your soft, rosy cheek. Oh,
Rosa, give it me of your own free will, and not by chance.
Ah!”
The prisoner’s prayer ended in a sigh of ecstasy; his lips
met those of the maiden, — not by chance, nor by stratagem,
but as Saint-Preux’s was to meet the lips of Julie a hundred
years later.
Rosa made her escape.
Cornelius stood with his heart upon his lips, and his face
glued to the wicket in the door.
He was fairly choking with happiness and joy. He opened his
window, and gazed long, with swelling heart, at the
cloudless vault of heaven, and the moon, which shone like
silver upon the two-fold stream flowing from far beyond the
hills. He filled his lungs with the pure, sweet air, while
his brain dwelt upon thoughts of happiness, and his heart
overflowed with gratitude and religious fervour.
“Oh Thou art always watching from on high, my God,” he
cried, half prostrate, his glowing eyes fixed upon the
stars: “forgive me that I almost doubted Thy existence
during these latter days, for Thou didst hide Thy face
behind the clouds, and wert for a moment lost to my sight, O
Thou merciful God, Thou pitying Father everlasting! But
to-day, this evening, and to-night, again I see Thee in all
Thy wondrous glory in the mirror of Thy heavenly abode, and
more clearly still in the mirror of my grateful heart.”
He was well again, the poor invalid; the wretched captive
was free once more.
During part of the night Cornelius, with his heart full of
joy and delight, remained at his window, gazing at the
stars, and listening for every sound.
Then casting a glance from time to time towards the lobby,
—
“Down there,” he said, “is Rosa, watching like myself, and
waiting from minute to minute; down there, under Rosa’s
eyes, is the mysterious flower, which lives, which expands,
which opens, perhaps Rosa holds in this moment the stem of
the tulip between her delicate fingers. Touch it gently,
Rosa. Perhaps she touches with her lips its expanding
chalice. Touch it cautiously, Rosa, your lips are burning.
Yes, perhaps at this moment the two objects of my dearest
love caress each other under the eye of Heaven.”
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At this moment, a star blazed in the southern sky, and shot
through the whole horizon, falling down, as it were, on the
fortress of Loewestein.
Cornelius felt a thrill run through his frame.
“Ah!” he said, “here is Heaven sending a soul to my flower.”
And as if he had guessed correctly, nearly at that very
moment the prisoner heard in the lobby a step light as that
of a sylph, and the rustling of a gown, and a well-known
voice, which said to him, —
“Cornelius, my friend, my very dear friend, and very happy
friend, come, come quickly.”