Boxtel did not deem it fit to answer these several charges, but, turning to the Prince, continued,-- “I have now for twenty years grown tulips at Dort. I have even acquired some reputation in this art; one of my hybrids is entered in the catalogue under the name of an illustrious personage. I have dedicated it to the King of Portugal. The truth in the matter is as I shall now tell your Highness. This damsel knew that I had produced the black tulip, and, in concert with a lover of hers in the fortress of Loewestein, she formed the plan of ruining me by appropriating to herself the prize of a hundred thousand guilders, which, with the help of your Highness’s justice, I hope to gain.” “Yah!” cried Rosa, beyond herself with anger. “Silence!” said the Prince. Then, turning to Boxtel, he said,-- “And who is that prisoner to whom you allude as the lover of this young woman?” Rosa nearly swooned, for Cornelius was designated as a dangerous prisoner, and recommended by the Prince to the especial surveillance of the jailer. Nothing could have been more agreeable to Boxtel than this question. “This prisoner,” he said, “is a man whose name in itself will prove to your Highness what trust you may place in his probity. He is a prisoner of state, who was once condemned to death.” “And his name?” Rosa hid her face in her hands with a movement of despair. “His name is Cornelius van Baerle,” said Boxtel, “and he is godson of that villain Cornelius de Witt.” The Prince gave a start, his generally quiet eye flashed, and a death-like paleness spread over his impassible features. He went up to Rosa, and with his finger, gave her a sign to remove her hands from her face. Rosa obeyed, as if under mesmeric influence, without having seen the sign. “It was, then to follow this man that you came to me at Leyden to solicit for the transfer of your father?” Rosa hung down her head, and, nearly choking, said,-- “Yes, your Highness.” “Go on,” said the Prince to Boxtel.