inestimable treasure, let himself out by the window, glided
down the ladder, carried it back to the place whence he had
taken it, and, like a beast of prey, returned growling to
his house.
Chapter 9
The Family Cell
It was about midnight when poor Van Baerle was locked up in
the prison of the Buytenhof.
What Rosa foresaw had come to pass. On finding the cell of
Cornelius de Witt empty, the wrath of the people ran very
high, and had Gryphus fallen into the hands of those madmen
he would certainly have had to pay with his life for the
prisoner.
But this fury had vented itself most fully on the two
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brothers when they were overtaken by the murderers, thanks
to the precaution which William — the man of precautions —
had taken in having the gates of the city closed.
A momentary lull had therefore set in whilst the prison was
empty, and Rosa availed herself of this favourable moment to
come forth from her hiding place, which she also induced her
father to leave.
The prison was therefore completely deserted. Why should
people remain in the jail whilst murder was going on at the
Tol-Hek?
Gryphus came forth trembling behind the courageous Rosa.
They went to close the great gate, at least as well as it
would close, considering that it was half demolished. It was
easy to see that a hurricane of mighty fury had vented
itself upon it.
About four o’clock a return of the noise was heard, but of
no threatening character to Gryphus and his daughter. The
people were only dragging in the two corpses, which they
came back to gibbet at the usual place of execution.
Rosa hid herself this time also, but only that she might not
see the ghastly spectacle.
At midnight, people again knocked at the gate of the jail,
or rather at the barricade which served in its stead: it was
Cornelius van Baerle whom they were bringing.
When the jailer received this new inmate, and saw from the
warrant the name and station of his prisoner, he muttered
with his turnkey smile, —
“Godson of Cornelius de Witt! Well, young man, we have the
family cell here, and we will give it to you.”
And quite enchanted with his joke, the ferocious Orangeman
took his cresset and his keys to conduct Cornelius to the
cell, which on that very morning Cornelius de Witt had left
to go into exile, or what in revolutionary times is meant
instead by those sublime philosophers who lay it down as an
axiom of high policy, “It is the dead only who do not
return.”
On the way which the despairing florist had to traverse to
reach that cell he heard nothing but the barking of a dog,
and saw nothing but the face of a young girl.
The dog rushed forth from a niche in the wall, shaking his
heavy chain, and sniffing all round Cornelius in order so
much the better to recognise him in case he should be
ordered to pounce upon him.
The young girl, whilst the prisoner was mounting the
staircase, appeared at the narrow door of her chamber, which
opened on that very flight of steps; and, holding the lamp
in her right hand, she at the same time lit up her pretty
blooming face, surrounded by a profusion of rich wavy golden
locks, whilst with her left she held her white night-dress
closely over her breast, having been roused from her first
slumber by the unexpected arrival of Van Baerle.
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It would have made a fine picture, worthy of Rembrandt, the
gloomy winding stairs illuminated by the reddish glare of
the cresset of Gryphus, with his scowling jailer’s
countenance at the top, the melancholy figure of Cornelius
bending over the banister to look down upon the sweet face
of Rosa, standing, as it were, in the bright frame of the
door of her chamber, with embarrassed mien at being thus
seen by a stranger.
And at the bottom, quite in the shade, where the details are
absorbed in the obscurity, the mastiff, with his eyes