Черный тюльпан
The Second Bulb
“Yes,”answeredRosa,“onemayalreadydistinguishathreadofdifferentcolour,asthinasahair.”
“Anditscolour?”askedCornelius,trembling.
“Oh,”answeredRosa,“itisverydark!”
“Brown?”
“Darkerthanthat.”
“Darker,mygoodRosa,darker?Thankyou.Darkas——”
“DarkastheinkwithwhichIwrotetoyou.”
Corneliusutteredacryofmadjoy.
Then,suddenlystoppingandclaspinghishands,hesaid,—
“Oh,thereisnotanangelinheaventhatmaybecomparedtoyou,Rosa!”
“Indeed!”saidRosa,smilingathisenthusiasm.
“Rosa,youhaveworkedwithsuchardour,—youhavedonesomuchforme!Rosa,mytulipisabouttoflower,anditwillflowerblack!Rosa,Rosa,youarethemostperfectbeingonearth!”
“Afterthetulip,though.”
“Ah!bequiet,youmaliciouslittlecreature,bequiet!Forshame!Donotspoilmypleasure.Buttellme,Rosa,—asthetulipissofaradvanced,itwillflowerintwoorthreedays,atthelatest?”
“To-morrow,orthedayafter.”
“Ah!andIshallnotseeit,”criedCornelius,startingback,“Ishallnotkissit,asawonderfulworkoftheAlmighty,asIkissyourhandandyourcheek,Rosa,whenbychancetheyarenearthegrating.”
Rosadrewnear,notbyaccident,butintentionally,andCorneliuskissedhertenderly.
“Faith,Ishallcullit,ifyouwishit.”
“Oh,no,no,Rosa!whenitisopen,placeitcarefullyintheshade,andimmediatelysendamessagetoHaarlem,tothePresidentoftheHorticulturalSociety,thatthegrandblacktulipisinflower.
