Loewestein strike nine.
The last chime was still vibrating through the air, when
Cornelius heard on the staircase the light step and the
rustle of the flowing dress of the fair Frisian maid, and
soon after a light appeared at the little grated window in
the door, on which the prisoner fixed his earnest gaze.
The shutter opened on the outside.
“Here I am,” said Rosa, out of breath from running up the
stairs, “here I am.”
“Oh, my good Rosa.”
“You are then glad to see me?”
“Can you ask? But how did you contrive to get here? tell
me.”
“Now listen to me. My father falls asleep every evening
almost immediately after his supper; I then make him lie
down, a little stupefied with his gin. Don’t say anything
about it, because, thanks to this nap, I shall be able to
come every evening and chat for an hour with you.”
“Oh, I thank you, Rosa, dear Rosa.”
Saying these words, Cornelius put his face so near the
little window that Rosa withdrew hers.
“I have brought back to you your bulbs.”
Cornelius’s heart leaped with joy. He had not yet dared to
ask Rosa what she had done with the precious treasure which
he had intrusted to her.
“Oh, you have preserved them, then?”
“Did you not give them to me as a thing which was dear to
you?”
“Yes, but as I have given them to you, it seems to me that
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they belong to you.”
“They would have belonged to me after your death, but,
fortunately, you are alive now. Oh how I blessed his
Highness in my heart! If God grants to him all the happiness
that I have wished him, certainly Prince William will be the
happiest man on earth. When I looked at the Bible of your
godfather Cornelius, I was resolved to bring back to you
your bulbs, only I did not know how to accomplish it. I had,
however, already formed the plan of going to the
Stadtholder, to ask from him for my father the appointment
of jailer of Loewestein, when your housekeeper brought me
your letter. Oh, how we wept together! But your letter only
confirmed me the more in my resolution. I then left for
Leyden, and the rest you know.”
“What, my dear Rosa, you thought, even before receiving my
letter, of coming to meet me again?”
“If I thought of it,” said Rosa, allowing her love to get
the better of her bashfulness, “I thought of nothing else.”
And, saying these words, Rosa looked so exceedingly pretty,
that for the second time Cornelius placed his forehead and
lips against the wire grating; of course, we must presume
with the laudable desire to thank the young lady.
Rosa, however, drew back as before.
“In truth,” she said, with that coquetry which somehow or
other is in the heart of every young girl, “I have often
been sorry that I am not able to read, but never so much so
as when your housekeeper brought me your letter. I kept the
paper in my hands, which spoke to other people, and which
was dumb to poor stupid me.”
“So you have often regretted not being able to read,” said
Cornelius. “I should just like to know on what occasions.”
“Troth,” she said, laughing, “to read all the letters which
were written to me.”
“Oh, you received letters, Rosa?”
“By hundreds.”
“But who wrote to you?”
“Who! why, in the first place, all the students who passed
over the Buytenhof, all the officers who went to parade, all
the clerks, and even the merchants who saw me at my little
window.”
“And what did you do with all these notes, my dear Rosa?”
“Formerly,” she answered, “I got some friend to read them to
me, which was capital fun, but since a certain time — well,
what use is it to attend to all this nonsense? — since a
certain time I have burnt them.”
“Since a certain time!” exclaimed Cornelius, with a look
beaming with love and joy.
Rosa cast down her eyes, blushing. In her sweet confusion,
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