Rosa sighed, yet without any bitter feeling, but rather like a woman who begins to understand a foible, and to accustom herself to it.
“I return to your tulip, Mynheer Van Baerle, and as soon as it opens, I will give you news, which being done, the messenger will set out immediately.”
“Rosa, Rosa, I don’t know to what wonder under the sun I shall compare you.”
“Compare me to the black tulip, and I promise you I shall feel very much flattered. Good night, then, till we meet again, Mynheer Cornelius.”
“Oh, say good night, my friend.”
“Good night, my friend,” said Rosa, a little consoled,
“Say, my very dear friend.”
“Oh, my friend.”
“Very dear friend, I entreat you, say, very dear, Rosa, very dear.”
“Very dear, yes, very dear,” said Rosa, with a beating heart, beyond herself with happiness.
During part of the night Cornelius, with his heart full of joy and delight, remained at his window, gazing at the stars, and listening for every sound.
Then casting a glance from time to time, towards the lobby,—
“Down there,” he said, “is Rosa, watching like myself, and waiting from minute to minute; down there, under Rosa’s eyes, is the mysterious flower, which lives, which expands, which opens; perhaps Rosa holds in this moment the stem of the tulip between her delicate fingers. Touch it gently, Rosa. Perhaps she touches with her lips its expanding chalice. Touch it cautiously, Rosa, your lips are burning. Yes, perhaps at this moment, the two objects of my dearest love caress each other under the eye of Heaven.”
At this moment a star blazed in the southern sky,
