“Stop, that the gentleman may see,” said the officer, with that frank kindliness which is peculiar to military men, to the soldier who was acting as postilion. “Oh, thank you, Sir, for your kindness,” replied Van Baerle, in a melancholy tone; “the joy of others pains me; please spare me this pang.” “Just as you wish. Drive on! I ordered the driver to stop because I thought it would please you, as you are said to love flowers, and especially that the feast of which is celebrated to-day.” “And what flower is that?” “The tulip.” “The tulip!” cried Van Baerle, “is to-day the feast of tulips?” “Yes, sir; but as this spectacle displeases you, let us drive on.” The officer was about to give the order to proceed, but Cornelius stopped him, a painful thought having struck him. He asked, with faltering voice,-- “Is the prize given to-day, sir?” “Yes, the prize for the black tulip.” Cornelius’s cheek flushed, his whole frame trembled, and the cold sweat stood on his brow. “Alas! sir,” he said, “all these good people will be as unfortunate as myself, for they will not see the solemnity which they have come to witness, or at least they will see it incompletely.” “What is it you mean to say?” “I mean to say,” replied Cornelius, throwing himself back in the carriage, “that the black tulip will not be found, except by one whom I know.” “In this case,” said the officer, “the person whom you know has found it, for the thing which the whole of Haarlem is looking at at this moment is neither more nor less than the black tulip.” “The black tulip!” replied Van Baerle, thrusting half his body out of the carriage window. “Where is it? where is it?” “Down there on the throne,--don’t you see?” “I do see it.” “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.