“An honest tulip-grower of Dort.”
“His name?”
“Boxtel.”
“His quarters?”
“At the White Swan; I shall send for him, and if, in the meanwhile, Your Highness will do me the honour of stepping into my drawing-room, he will be sure—knowing that Your Highness is here to lose no time in bringing his tulip.”
“Very well, send for him.”
“Yes, Your Highness, but”
“What is it?”
“Oh! nothing of any consequence, Monseigneur.”
“Everything is of consequence, Mynheer Van Herysen.”
“Well then, Monseigneur, if it must be said, a little difficulty has presented itself.”
“What difficulty?”
“This tulip has already been claimed by usurpers. It’s true that it is worth a hundred thousand guilders.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, Monseigneur, by usurpers, by forgers.”
“This is a crime, Mynheer Van Herysen.”
“So it is, Your Highness.”
“And have you any proofs of their guilt?”
“No, Monseigneur, the guilty woman”
“The guilty woman, sir?”
“I ought to say, the woman who claims the tulip, Monseigneur, is here in the room close by.”
“And what do you think of her?”
“I think, Monseigneur, that the bait of a hundred thousand guilders may have tempted her.”
“And so she claims the tulip?”
“Yes, Monseigneur.”
