his head, just as the broken gate gave admittance to the
populace.
The dungeon where Rosa had induced her father to hide
himself, and where for the present we must leave the two,
offered to them a perfectly safe retreat, being known only
to those in power, who used to place there important
prisoners of state, to guard against a rescue or a revolt.
The people rushed into the prison, with the cry —
“Death to the traitors! To the gallows with Cornelius de
Witt! Death! death!”
Chapter 4
The Murderers
The young man with his hat slouched over his eyes, still
leaning on the arm of the officer, and still wiping from
time to time his brow with his handkerchief, was watching in
a corner of the Buytenhof, in the shade of the overhanging
weather-board of a closed shop, the doings of the infuriated
mob, a spectacle which seemed to draw near its catastrophe.
“Indeed,” said he to the officer, “indeed, I think you were
right, Van Deken; the order which the deputies have signed
is truly the death-warrant of Master Cornelius. Do you hear
these people? They certainly bear a sad grudge to the two De
Witts.”
“In truth,” replied the officer, “I never heard such
shouts.”
“They seem to have found out the cell of the man. Look,
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
look! is not that the window of the cell where Cornelius was
locked up?”
A man had seized with both hands and was shaking the iron
bars of the window in the room which Cornelius had left only
ten minutes before.
“Halloa, halloa!” the man called out, “he is gone.”
“How is that? gone?” asked those of the mob who had not been
able to get into the prison, crowded as it was with the mass
of intruders.
“Gone, gone,” repeated the man in a rage, “the bird has
flown.”
“What does this man say?” asked his Highness, growing quite
pale.
“Oh, Monseigneur, he says a thing which would be very
fortunate if it should turn out true!”
“Certainly it would be fortunate if it were true,” said the
young man; “unfortunately it cannot be true.”
“However, look!” said the officer.
And indeed, some more faces, furious and contorted with
rage, showed themselves at the windows, crying, —
“Escaped, gone, they have helped them off!”
And the people in the street repeated, with fearful
imprecations, —
“Escaped gone! After them, and catch them!”
“Monseigneur, it seems that Mynheer Cornelius has really
escaped,” said the officer.
“Yes, from prison, perhaps, but not from the town; you will
see, Van Deken, that the poor fellow will find the gate
closed against him which he hoped to find open.”
“Has an order been given to close the town gates,
Monseigneur?”
“No, — at least I do not think so; who could have given
such an order?”
“Indeed, but what makes your Highness suppose?”
“There are fatalities,” Monseigneur replied, in an offhand
manner; “and the greatest men have sometimes fallen victims
to such fatalities.”
At these words the officer felt his blood run cold, as
somehow or other he was convinced that the prisoner was
lost.
At this moment the roar of the multitude broke forth like
thunder, for it was now quite certain that Cornelius de Witt
was no longer in the prison.
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Dumas, Alexandre – The Black Tulip
Cornelius and John, after driving along the pond, had taken
the main street, which leads to the Tol-Hek, giving
directions to the coachman to slacken his pace, in order not
to excite any suspicion.
But when, on having proceeded half-way down that street, the
man felt that he had left the prison and death behind, and
before him there was life and liberty, he neglected every
precaution, and set his horses off at a gallop.
All at once he stopped.
“What is the matter?” asked John, putting his head out of
the coach window.
“Oh, my masters!” cried the coachman, “it is —- ”
Terror choked the voice of the honest fellow.
“Well, say what you have to say!” urged the Grand
Pensionary.
“The gate is closed, that’s what it is.”
“How is this? It is not usual to close the gate by day.”