This argument capped all the others, and, in order so much the more effectually to destroy the germ of conspiracy, sentence of death was unanimously pronounced against Cornelius van Baerle, as being arraigned, and convicted, for having, under the innocent appearance of a tulip-fancier, participated in the detestable intrigues and abominable plots of the brothers De Witt against Dutch nationality and in their secret relations with their French enemy. A supplementary clause was tacked to the sentence, to the effect that “the aforesaid Cornelius van Baerle should be led from the prison of the Buytenhof to the scaffold in the yard of the same name, where the public executioner would cut off his head.” As this deliberation was a most serious affair, it lasted a full half-hour, during which the prisoner was remanded to his cell. There the Recorder of the States came to read the sentence to him. Master Gryphus was detained in bed by the fever caused by the fracture of his arm. His keys passed into the hands of one of his assistants. Behind this turnkey, who introduced the Recorder, Rosa, the fair Frisian maid, had slipped into the recess of the door, with a handkerchief to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Cornelius listened to the sentence with an expression rather of surprise than sadness. After the sentence was read, the Recorder asked him whether he had anything to answer. “Indeed, I have not,” he replied. “Only I confess that, among all the causes of death against which a cautious man may guard, I should never have supposed this to be comprised.” On this answer, the Recorder saluted Van Baerle with all that consideration which such functionaries generally bestow upon great criminals of every sort. But whilst he was about to withdraw, Cornelius asked, “By the bye, Mr. Recorder, what day is the thing--you know what I mean--to take place?” “Why, to-day,” answered the Recorder, a little surprised by the self-possession of the condemned man. A sob was heard behind the door, and Cornelius turned round to look from whom it came; but Rosa, who had foreseen this movement, had fallen back. “And,” continued Cornelius, “what hour is appointed?” “Twelve o’clock, sir.” “Indeed,” said Cornelius, “I think I heard the clock strike ten about twenty minutes ago; I have not much time to spare.” “Indeed you have not, if you wish to make your peace with God,” said the Recorder, bowing to the ground. “You may ask for any clergyman you please.” Saying these words he went out backwards, and the assistant turnkey was going to follow him, and to lock the door of Cornelius’s cell, when a white and trembling arm interposed between him and the heavy door.