Baerle, quite happy to have saved the vessel, did not suspect that the adversary had possessed himself of its precious contents, Gryphus hurled the softened bulb with all his force on the flags, where, almost immediately after, it was crushed to atoms under his heavy shoe.
Van Baerle saw the work of destruction, got a glimpse of the juicy remains of his darling bulb, and, guessing the cause of the ferocious joy of Gryphus, uttered a cry of agony, which would have melted the heart even of that ruthless jailor, who some years before killed Pellisson’s spider.
The idea of striking down this spiteful bully passed like lightning through the brain of the tulip-fancier. The blood rushed to his brow, and seemed like fire in his eyes, which blinded him; and he raised in his two hands the heavy jug with all the now useless earth which remained in it. One instant more, and he would have flung it on the bald head of old Gryphus.
But a cry stopped him; a cry of agony, uttered by poor Rosa, who, trembling and pale, with her arms raised to heaven, made her appearance behind the grated window, and thus interposed between her father and her friend.
Gryphus then understood the danger with which he had been threatened, and he broke out in a volley of the most terrible abuse.
“Indeed,” said Cornelius to him, “you must be a very mean and spiteful fellow, to rob a poor prisoner of his only consolation, a tulip bulb.”
“For shame, my father,” Rosa chimed in, it is indeed a crime you have committed here.”
“Ah, is that you, my little chatterbox?” the old man cried, boiling with rage and turning towards her;
