the border, plunged both his hands into the soft soil, took a handful of the mould, which he gently frittered between his fingers to see whether the bulb was in it, and repeated the same thing twice or three times, until at last he perceived that he was outwitted. Then, keeping down the agitation which was raging in his breast, he took up the rake, smoothed the ground, so as to leave it, on his retiring, in the same state as he had found it; and, quite abashed and rueful, walked back to the door, affecting the unconcerned air of an ordinary visitor of the garden.”
“Oh! the wretch,” muttered Cornelius, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. “Oh! the wretch. I guessed his intentions. But the sucker, Rosa; what have you done with it? It is already rather late to plant it.”
“The sucker? It has been in the ground for these six days.”
“Where? and how?” cried Cornelius. Good Heaven! what imprudence. Where is it? In what sort of soil is it? In what aspect? Good or bad? Is there no risk of having it filched by that detestable Jacob?”
“There is no danger of its being stolen,” said Rosa, “unless Jacob will force the door of my chamber.”
“Oh! then it is with you in your bed-room?” said Cornelius, somewhat relieved. “But in what soil? in what vessel? You don’t let it grow, I hope, in water, like those good ladies of Haarlem and Dort, who magine that water could replace the earth?”
“You may make yourself comfortable on that score,” said Rosa, smiling; “your sucker is not growing in water.”
“I breathe again.”
“It is in a good sound stone-pot, just about the size of the jug in which you had planted yours. The soil
