“No, I don’t know Master Boxtel, but I know Master Jacob.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to say that at Loewestein the man who here calls
himself Isaac Boxtel went by the name of Master Jacob.”
“What do you say to that, Master Boxtel?”
“I say that this damsel lies, your Highness.”
“You deny, therefore, having ever been at Loewestein?”
Boxtel hesitated; the fixed and searching glance of the
proud eye of the Prince prevented him from lying.
“I cannot deny having been at Loewestein, your Highness, but
I deny having stolen the tulip.”
“You have stolen it, and that from my room,” cried Rosa,
with indignation.
“I deny it.”
“Now listen to me. Do you deny having followed me into the
garden, on the day when I prepared the border where I was to
plant it? Do you deny having followed me into the garden
when I pretended to plant it? Do you deny that, on that
evening, you rushed after my departure to the spot where you
hoped to find the bulb? Do you deny having dug in the ground
with your hands — but, thank God! in vain, as it was a
stratagem to discover your intentions. Say, do you deny all
this?”
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Boxtel did not deem it fit to answer these several charges,
but, turning to the Prince, continued, —
“I have now for twenty years grown tulips at Dort. I have
even acquired some reputation in this art; one of my hybrids
is entered in the catalogue under the name of an illustrious
personage. I have dedicated it to the King of Portugal. The
truth in the matter is as I shall now tell your Highness.
This damsel knew that I had produced the black tulip, and,
in concert with a lover of hers in the fortress of
Loewestein, she formed the plan of ruining me by
appropriating to herself the prize of a hundred thousand
guilders, which, with the help of your Highness’s justice, I
hope to gain.”
“Yah!” cried Rosa, beyond herself with anger.
“Silence!” said the Prince.
Then, turning to Boxtel, he said, —
“And who is that prisoner to whom you allude as the lover of
this young woman?”
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 death-like 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
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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.