“After whom, then?” “Me, for instance.” “You?” “Why not?” said Rosa, smiling. “Ah, that’s true,” Cornelius observed, with a sigh. “You will not always have suitors in vain; this man may become your husband.” “I don’t say anything to the contrary.” “What cause have you to entertain such a happy prospect?” “Rather say, this fear, Mynheer Cornelius.” “Thank you, Rosa, you are right; well, I will say then, this fear?” “I have only this reason----” “Tell me, I am anxious to hear.” “This man came several times before to the Buytenhof, at the Hague. I remember now, it was just about the time when you were confined there. When I left, he left too; when I came here, he came after me. At the Hague his pretext was that he wanted to see you.” “See me?” “Yes, it must have undoubtedly been only a pretext for now, when he could plead the same reason, as you are my father’s prisoner again, he does not care any longer for you; quite the contrary,--I heard him say to my father only yesterday that he did not know you.” “Go on, Rosa, pray do, that I may guess who that man is, and what he wants.” “Are you quite sure, Mynheer Cornelius, that none of your friends can interest himself for you?” “I have no friends, Rosa; I have only my old nurse, whom you know, and who knows you. Alas, poor Sue! she would come herself, and use no roundabout ways. She would at once say to your father, or to you, ‘My good sir, or my good miss, my child is here; see how grieved I am; let me see him only for one hour, and I’ll pray for you as long as I live.’ No, no,” continued Cornelius; “with the exception of my poor old Sue, I have no friends in this world.” “Then I come back to what I thought before; and the more so as last evening at sunset, whilst I was arranging the border where I am to plant your bulb, I saw a shadow gliding between the alder trees and the aspens. I did not appear to see him, but it was this man. He concealed himself and saw me digging the ground, and certainly it was me whom he followed, and me whom he was spying after. I could not move my rake, or touch one atom of soil, without his noticing it.” “Oh, yes, yes, he is in love with you,” said Cornelius. “Is he young? Is he handsome?” Saying this he looked anxiously at Rosa, eagerly waiting for her answer. “Young? handsome?” cried Rosa, bursting into a laugh. “He is hideous to look at; crooked, nearly fifty years of age, and never dares to look me in the face, or to speak, except in an undertone.” “And his name?” “Jacob Gisels.” “I don’t know him.” “Then you see that, at all events, he does not come after you.” “At any rate, if he loves you, Rosa, which is very likely, as to see you is to love you, at least you don’t love him.” “To be sure I don’t.” “Then you wish me to keep my mind easy?” “I should certainly ask you to do so.” “Well, then, now as you begin to know how to read you will read all that I write to you of the pangs of jealousy and of absence, won’t you, Rosa?”