“As to that,” said Rosa, “I think that in reading the notes addressed to me, and passing the different swains in review who send them to me, I am only following your instructions.” “How so? My instructions?” “Indeed, your instructions, sir,” said Rosa, sighing in her turn; “have you forgotten the will written by your hand on the Bible of Cornelius de Witt? I have not forgotten it; for now, as I know how to read, I read it every day over and over again. In that will you bid me to love and marry a handsome young man of twenty-six or eight years. I am on the look-out for that young man, and as the whole of my day is taken up with your tulip, you must needs leave me the evenings to find him.” “But, Rosa, the will was made in the expectation of death, and, thanks to Heaven, I am still alive.” “Well, then, I shall not be after the handsome young man, and I shall come to see you.” “That’s it, Rosa, come! come!” “Under one condition.” “Granted beforehand!” “That the black tulip shall not be mentioned for the next three days.” “It shall never be mentioned any more, if you wish it, Rosa.” “No, no,” the damsel said, laughing, “I will not ask for impossibilities.” And, saying this, she brought her fresh cheek, as if unconsciously, so near the iron grating, that Cornelius was able to touch it with his lips. Rosa uttered a little scream, which, however, was full of love, and disappeared. Chapter 21. The Second Bulb The night was a happy one, and the whole of the next day happier still. During the last few days, the prison had been heavy, dark, and lowering, as it were, with all its weight on the unfortunate captive. Its walls were black, its air chilling, the iron bars seemed to exclude every ray of light. But when Cornelius awoke next morning, a beam of the morning sun was playing about those iron bars; pigeons were hovering about with outspread wings, whilst others were lovingly cooing on the roof or near the still closed window. Cornelius ran to that window and opened it; it seemed to him as if new life, and joy, and liberty itself were entering with this sunbeam into his cell, which, so dreary of late, was now cheered and irradiated by the light of love. When Gryphus, therefore, came to see his prisoner in the morning, he no longer found him morose and lying in bed, but standing at the window, and singing a little ditty. “Halloa!” exclaimed the jailer. “How are you this morning?” asked Cornelius. Gryphus looked at him with a scowl. “And how is the dog, and Master Jacob, and our pretty Rosa?” Gryphus ground his teeth, saying-- “Here is your breakfast.” “Thank you, friend Cerberus,” said the prisoner; “you are just in time; I am very hungry.” “Oh! you are hungry, are you?” said Gryphus. “And why not?” asked Van Baerle. “The conspiracy seems to thrive,” remarked Gryphus. “What conspiracy?” “Very well, I know what I know, Master Scholar; just be quiet, we shall be on our guard.”