slightly mixed with sand, rather moist than dry without a
fragment of stone or pebble.”
“Well done, Rosa, well done.”
“I am now only waiting for your further orders to put in the
bulb, you know that I must be behindhand with you, as I have
in my favour all the chances of good air, of the sun, and
abundance of moisture.”
“All true, all true,” exclaimed Cornelius, clapping his
hands with joy, “you are a good pupil, Rosa, and you are
sure to gain your hundred thousand guilders.”
“Don’t forget,” said Rosa, smiling, “that your pupil, as you
call me, has still other things to learn besides the
cultivation of tulips.”
“Yes, yes, and I am as anxious as you are, Rosa, that you
should learn to read.”
“When shall we begin?”
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“At once.”
“No, to-morrow.”
“Why to-morrow?”
“Because to-day our hour is expired, and I must leave you.”
“Already? But what shall we read?”
“Oh,” said Rosa, “I have a book, — a book which I hope will
bring us luck.”
“To-morrow, then.”
“Yes, to-morrow.”
On the following evening Rosa returned with the Bible of
Cornelius de Witt.
Chapter 17
The First Bulb
On the following evening, as we have said, Rosa returned
with the Bible of Cornelius de Witt.
Then began between the master and the pupil one of those
charming scenes which are the delight of the novelist who
has to describe them.
The grated window, the only opening through which the two
lovers were able to communicate, was too high for
conveniently reading a book, although it had been quite
convenient for them to read each other’s faces.
Rosa therefore had to press the open book against the
grating edgewise, holding above it in her right hand the
lamp, but Cornelius hit upon the lucky idea of fixing it to
the bars, so as to afford her a little rest. Rosa was then
enabled to follow with her finger the letters and syllables,
which she was to spell for Cornelius, who with a straw
pointed out the letters to his attentive pupil through the
holes of the grating.
The light of the lamp illuminated the rich complexion of
Rosa, her blue liquid eyes, and her golden hair under her
head-dress of gold brocade, with her fingers held up, and
showing in the blood, as it flowed downwards in the veins
that pale pink hue which shines before the light owing to
the living transparency of the flesh tint.
Rosa’s intellect rapidly developed itself under the
animating influence of Cornelius, and when the difficulties
seemed too arduous, the sympathy of two loving hearts seemed
to smooth them away.
And Rosa, after having returned to her room, repeated in her
solitude the reading lessons, and at the same time recalled
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all the delight which she had felt whilst receiving them.
One evening she came half an hour later than usual. This was
too extraordinary an instance not to call forth at once
Cornelius’s inquiries after its cause.
“Oh! do not be angry with me,” she said, “it is not my
fault. My father has renewed an acquaintance with an old
crony who used to visit him at the Hague, and to ask him to
let him see the prison. He is a good sort of fellow, fond of
his bottle, tells funny stories, and moreover is very free
with his money, so as always to be ready to stand a treat.”
“You don’t know anything further of him?” asked Cornelius,
surprised.
“No,” she answered; “it’s only for about a fortnight that my
father has taken such a fancy to this friend who is so
assiduous in visiting him.”
“Ah, so,” said Cornelius, shaking his head uneasily as every
new incident seemed to him to forebode some catastrophe;
“very likely some spy, one of those who are sent into jails
to watch both prisoners and their keepers.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Rosa, smiling; “if that worthy
person is spying after any one, it is certainly not after my
father.”
“After whom, then?”
“Me, for instance.”
“You?”
“Why not?” said Rosa, smiling.
“Ah, that’s true,” Cornelius observed, with a sigh. “You