“Well, on the day after that unfortunate one, I went down into the garden and proceeded towards the border where I was to plant your tulip, looking round all the while to see whether I was again followed as I was last time.” “And then?” Cornelius asked. “And then the same shadow glided between the gate and the wall, and once more disappeared behind the elder-trees.” “You feigned not to see him, didn’t you?” Cornelius asked, remembering all the details of the advice which he had given to Rosa. “Yes, and I stooped over the border, in which I dug with a spade, as if I was going to put the bulb in.” “And he,--what did he do during all this time?” “I saw his eyes glisten through the branches of the tree like those of a tiger.” “There you see, there you see!” cried Cornelius. “Then, after having finished my make-believe work, I retired.” “But only behind the garden door, I dare say, so that you might see through the keyhole what he was going to do when you had left?” “He waited for a moment, very likely to make sure of my not coming back, after which he sneaked forth from his hiding-place, and approached the border by a long round-about; at last, having reached his goal, that is to say, the spot where the ground was newly turned, he stopped with a careless air, looking about in all directions, and scanning every corner of the garden, every window of the neighbouring houses, and even the sky; after which, thinking himself quite alone, quite isolated, and out of everybody’s sight, he pounced upon the border, plunged both his hands into the soft soil, took a handful of the mould, which he gently frittered between his fingers to see whether the bulb was in it, and repeated the same thing twice or three times, until at last he perceived that he was outwitted. Then, keeping down the agitation which was raging in his breast, he took up the rake, smoothed the ground, so as to leave it on his retiring in the same state as he had found it, and, quite abashed and rueful, walked back to the door, affecting the unconcerned air of an ordinary visitor of the garden.” “Oh, the wretch!” muttered Cornelius, wiping the cold sweat from his brow. “Oh, the wretch! I guessed his intentions. But the bulb, Rosa; what have you done with it? It is already rather late to plant it.” “The bulb? It has been in the ground for these six days.” “Where? and how?” cried Cornelius. “Good Heaven, what imprudence! What is it? In what sort of soil is it? In what aspect? Good or bad? Is there no risk of having it filched by that detestable Jacob?” “There is no danger of its being stolen,” said Rosa, “unless Jacob will force the door of my chamber.” “Oh! then it is with you in your bedroom?” said Cornelius, somewhat relieved. “But in what soil? in what vessel? You don’t let it grow, I hope, in water like those good ladies of Haarlem and Dort, who imagine that water could replace the earth?”