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Cornelius’s cell, when a white and trembling arm interposed
between him and the heavy door.
Cornelius saw nothing but the golden brocade cap, tipped
with lace, such as the Frisian girls wore; he heard nothing
but some one whispering into the ear of the turnkey. But the
latter put his heavy keys into the white hand which was
stretched out to receive them, and, descending some steps,
sat down on the staircase which was thus guarded above by
himself, and below by the dog. The head-dress turned round,
and Cornelius beheld the face of Rosa, blanched with grief,
and her beautiful eyes streaming with tears.
She went up to Cornelius, crossing her arms on her heaving
breast.
“Oh, sir, sir!” she said, but sobs choked her utterance.
“My good girl,” Cornelius replied with emotion, “what do you
wish? I may tell you that my time on earth is short.”
“I come to ask a favour of you,” said Rosa, extending her
arms partly towards him and partly towards heaven.
“Don’t weep so, Rosa,” said the prisoner, “for your tears go
much more to my heart than my approaching fate, and you
know, the less guilty a prisoner is, the more it is his duty
to die calmly, and even joyfully, as he dies a martyr. Come,
there’s a dear, don’t cry any more, and tell me what you
want, my pretty Rosa.”
She fell on her knees. “Forgive my father,” she said.
“Your father, your father!” said Cornelius, astonished.
“Yes, he has been so harsh to you; but it is his nature, he
is so to every one, and you are not the only one whom he has
bullied.”
“He is punished, my dear Rosa, more than punished, by the
accident that has befallen him, and I forgive him.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Rosa. “And now tell me — oh, tell
me — can I do anything for you?”
“You can dry your beautiful eyes, my dear child,” answered
Cornelius, with a good-tempered smile.
“But what can I do for you, — for you I mean?”
“A man who has only one hour longer to live must be a great
Sybarite still to want anything, my dear Rosa.”
“The clergyman whom they have proposed to you?”
“I have worshipped God all my life, I have worshipped Him in
His works, and praised Him in His decrees. I am at peace
with Him and do not wish for a clergyman. The last thought
which occupies my mind, however has reference to the glory
of the Almighty, and, indeed, my dear, I should ask you to
help me in carrying out this last thought.”
“Oh, Mynheer Cornelius, speak, speak!” exclaimed Rosa, still
bathed in tears.
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“Give me your hand, and promise me not to laugh, my dear
child.”
“Laugh,” exclaimed Rosa, frantic with grief, “laugh at this
moment! do you not see my tears?”
“Rosa, you are no stranger to me. I have not seen much of
you, but that little is enough to make me appreciate your
character. I have never seen a woman more fair or more pure
than you are, and if from this moment I take no more notice
of you, forgive me; it is only because, on leaving this
world, I do not wish to have any further regret.”
Rosa felt a shudder creeping over her frame, for, whilst the
prisoner pronounced these words, the belfry clock of the
Buytenhof struck eleven.
Cornelius understood her. “Yes, yes, let us make haste,” he
said, “you are right, Rosa.”
Then, taking the paper with the three suckers from his
breast, where he had again put it, since he had no longer
any fear of being searched, he said: “My dear girl, I have
been very fond of flowers. That was at a time when I did not
know that there was anything else to be loved. Don’t blush,
Rosa, nor turn away; and even if I were making you a
declaration of love, alas! poor dear, it would be of no more
consequence. Down there in the yard, there is an instrument
of steel, which in sixty minutes will put an end to my