will not always have suitors in vain; this man may become
your husband.”
“I don’t say anything to the contrary.”
“What cause have you to entertain such a happy prospect?”
“Rather say, this fear, Mynheer Cornelius.”
“Thank you, Rosa, you are right; well, I will say then, this
fear?”
“I have only this reason —- ”
“Tell me, I am anxious to hear.”
“This man came several times before to the Buytenhof, at the
Hague. I remember now, it was just about the time when you
were confined there. When I left, he left too; when I came
here, he came after me. At the Hague his pretext was that he
wanted to see you.”
“See me?”
“Yes, it must have undoubtedly been only a pretext for now,
when he could plead the same reason, as you are my father’s
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prisoner again, he does not care any longer for you; quite
the contrary, — I heard him say to my father only yesterday
that he did not know you.”
“Go on, Rosa, pray do, that I may guess who that man is, and
what he wants.”
“Are you quite sure, Mynheer Cornelius, that none of your
friends can interest himself for you?”
“I have no friends, Rosa; I have only my old nurse, whom you
know, and who knows you. Alas, poor Sue! she would come
herself, and use no roundabout ways. She would at once say
to your father, or to you, ‘My good sir, or my good miss, my
child is here; see how grieved I am; let me see him only for
one hour, and I’ll pray for you as long as I live.’ No, no,”
continued Cornelius; “with the exception of my poor old Sue,
I have no friends in this world.”
“Then I come back to what I thought before; and the more so
as last evening at sunset, whilst I was arranging the border
where I am to plant your bulb, I saw a shadow gliding
between the alder trees and the aspens. I did not appear to
see him, but it was this man. He concealed himself and saw
me digging the ground, and certainly it was me whom he
followed, and me whom he was spying after. I could not move
my rake, or touch one atom of soil, without his noticing
it.”
“Oh, yes, yes, he is in love with you,” said Cornelius. “Is
he young? Is he handsome?”
Saying this he looked anxiously at Rosa, eagerly waiting for
her answer.
“Young? handsome?” cried Rosa, bursting into a laugh. “He is
hideous to look at; crooked, nearly fifty years of age, and
never dares to look me in the face, or to speak, except in
an undertone.”
“And his name?”
“Jacob Gisels.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Then you see that, at all events, he does not come after
you.”
“At any rate, if he loves you, Rosa, which is very likely,
as to see you is to love you, at least you don’t love him.”
“To be sure I don’t.”
“Then you wish me to keep my mind easy?”
“I should certainly ask you to do so.”
“Well, then, now as you begin to know how to read you will
read all that I write to you of the pangs of jealousy and of
absence, won’t you, Rosa?”
“I shall read it, if you write with good big letters.”
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Then, as the turn which the conversation took began to make
Rosa uneasy, she asked, —
“By the bye, how is your tulip going on?”
“Oh, Rosa, only imagine my joy, this morning I looked at it
in the sun, and after having moved the soil aside which
covers the bulb, I saw the first sprouting of the leaves.
This small germ has caused me a much greater emotion than
the order of his Highness which turned aside the sword
already raised at the Buytenhof.”
“You hope, then?” said Rosa, smiling.
“Yes, yes, I hope.”
“And I, in my turn, when shall I plant my bulb?”
“Oh, the first favourable day I will tell you; but, whatever