“Come along, sir,” said the officer. “Now, we must drive off.”
“Oh! have pity, have mercy, sir,” said Van Baerle, “don’t take me away. Let me look once more. Is what I see down there the black tulip? Quite black? Is it possible? Oh, sir, have you seen it? It must have specks, it must be imperfect, it must only be dyed black; ah, if I were there! I should see it at once. Let me alight, let me see it close, I beg of you.”
“Are you mad, sir? How could I allow such a thing?”
“I implore you.”
“But you forget that you are a prisoner.”
“It is true I am a prisoner, but I am a man of honour, and I promise you on my word that I will not run away, I will not attempt to escape-only let me see the flower.”
“But my orders, sir, my orders.” And the officer again made the driver a sign to proceed.
Cornelius stopped him once more.
“Oh, be forbearing, be generous, my whole life depends upon your pity. Alas! perhaps it will not be much longer. You don’t know, sir, what I suffer. You don’t know the struggle going on in my heart and mind; for after all,” Cornelius cried in despair, “if this were my tulip, if it were the one which has been stolen from Rosa! Oh! I must alight, sir! I must see the flower, you may kill me afterwards if you like, but I will see it, I must see it.”
“Be quiet, unfortunate man, and come quickly back into the carriage, for here is the escort of His Highness the Stadtholder, and if the Prince observed any disturbance, or heard any noise, it would be ruin to me, as well as to you.”
Van Baerle, more afraid for his companion than himself, threw himself back into the carriage, but he could only keep quiet for half a minute, and the first twenty horsemen had scarcely passed when he again leaned out of the carriage-window, gesticulating imploringly towards the Stadtholder at the very moment when he passed.
