Черный тюльпан
The Pigeons of Dort
Thequestionnowwas,whetherRosa,whohadmadethejourneyfromtheHaguetoLoewestein,andwho—Corneliusdidnotunderstandhow—hadsucceededeveninpenetratingintotheprison,wouldalsobefortunateenoughinpenetratingtotheprisonerhimself.
WhilstCornelius,debatingthispointwithinhimself,wasbuildingallsortsofcastlesintheair,andwasstrugglingbetweenhopeandfear,theshutterofthegratinginthedooropened,andRosa,beamingwithjoy,andbeautifulinherprettynationalcostume—butstillmorebeautifulfromthegriefwhichforthelastfivemonthshadblanchedhercheeks—pressedherlittlefaceagainstthewiregratingofthewindow,sayingtohim,—
“Oh,sir,sir!hereIam!”
Corneliusstretchedouthisarms,and,lookingtoheaven,utteredacryofjoy,—
“Oh,Rosa,Rosa!”
“Hush!letusspeaklow:myfatherfollowsonmyheels,”saidthegirl.
“Yourfather?”
“Yes,heisinthecourtyardatthebottomofthestaircase,receivingtheinstructionsoftheGovernor;hewillpresentlycomeup.”
“TheinstructionsoftheGovernor?”
“Listentome,I’lltrytotellyouallinafewwords.TheStadtholderhasacountry-house,oneleaguedistantfromLeyden,properlyspeakingakindoflargedairy,andmyaunt,whowashisnurse,hasthemanagementofit
