book, he watched Rosa even with more attention than he had done before.
“And you are fond of flowers?” continued Mynheer Van Herysen.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you are an experienced florist, I dare say?”
Rosa hesitated a moment; then with a tone which came from the depth of her heart, she said,—
“Gentlemen, I am speaking to men of honour?”
There was such an expression of truth in the tone of her voice, that Van Herysen and the Prince answered simultaneously by an affirmative movement of their heads.
“Well, then, I am not an experienced florist; I am only a poor girl, one of the people, who, three months ago, knew neither how to read or write. No, the black tulip has not been found by myself.”
“But by whom else?”
“By a poor prisoner of Lœvestein.”
“By a prisoner of Lœvestein?” repeated the Prince.
The tone of this voice startled Rosa, who was sure she had heard it before.
“By a prisoner of state, then,” continued the Prince, “as there are none else there.”
Having said this, he began to read again, at least in appearance.
“Yes,” said Rosa with a faltering voice, “yes, by a prisoner of state.”
Van Herysen trembled as he heard such a confession made in the presence of such a witness.
“Continue,” said William dryly, to the President of the Horticultural Society.
“Ah, sir,” said Rosa, addressing the person whom she thought to be her real judge, “I am going to incriminate myself very seriously.”
