Черный тюльпан
The First Bulb
Icouldnotmovemyrake,ortouchoneatomofsoil,withouthisnoticingit.”
“Oh,yes,yes,heisinlovewithyou,”saidCornelius.“Isheyoung?Ishehandsome?”
SayingthishelookedanxiouslyatRosa,eagerlywaitingforheranswer.
“Young?handsome?”criedRosa,burstingintoalaugh.“Heishideoustolookat;crooked,nearlyfiftyyearsofage,andneverdarestolookmeintheface,ortospeak,exceptinanundertone.”
“Andhisname?”
“JacobGisels.”
“Idon’tknowhim.”
“Thenyouseethat,atallevents,hedoesnotcomeafteryou.”
“Atanyrate,ifhelovesyou,Rosa,whichisverylikely,astoseeyouistoloveyou,atleastyoudon’tlovehim.”
“TobesureIdon’t.”
“Thenyouwishmetokeepmymindeasy?”
“Ishouldcertainlyaskyoutodoso.”
“Well,then,nowasyoubegintoknowhowtoreadyouwillreadallthatIwritetoyouofthepangsofjealousyandofabsence,won’tyou,Rosa?”
“Ishallreadit,ifyouwritewithgoodbigletters.”
Then,astheturnwhichtheconversationtookbegantomakeRosauneasy,sheasked,—
“Bythebye,howisyourtulipgoingon?”
“Oh,Rosa,onlyimaginemyjoy,thismorningIlookedatitinthesun,andafterhavingmovedthesoilasidewhichcoversthebulb,Isawthefirstsproutingoftheleaves.ThissmallgermhascausedmeamuchgreateremotionthantheorderofhisHighnesswhichturnedasidetheswordalreadyraisedattheBuytenhof.”
“Youhope,then?”saidRosa,smiling.
“Yes,yes,Ihope.
