“Ah! yes, but too late.”
“This repentance is not of himself.”
“And who put it into him?”
“If you only knew how his friend scolded him.”
“Ah, Master Jacob; he does not leave you, then, that Master Jacob?”
“At any rate, he leaves us as little as he can help.”
Saying this she smiled in such a way, that the little cloud of jealousy which had darkened the brow of Cornelius speedily vanished.
“How was it?” asked the prisoner.
“Well, being asked by his friend, my father told at supper the whole story of the tulip, or rather of the bulb, and of his own fine exploit of crushing it.”
Cornelius heaved a sigh, which might have been called a groan.
“Had you only seen Master Jacob at that moment! continued Rosa. “I really thought he would set fire to the castle; his eyes were like two flaming torches, his hair stood on end, and he clenched his fist for a moment; I thought he would have strangled my father.”
“‘You have done that,’ he cried, ‘you have crushed the bulb?’
“‘Indeed I have.”
“‘It is infamous,’ said Master Jacob, ‘it is odious! You have committed a great crime!’
“My father was quite dumbfounded.
“‘Are you mad, too?’ he asked his friend.”
“Oh! what a worthy man is this Master Jacob,” muttered Cornelius, “an honest soul, an excellent heart, that he is.”
“The truth is, that it is impossible to treat a man more rudely than he did my father: he was really quite in despair, repeating, over and over again,—
