Черный тюльпан
A Last Request
“Stop,thatthegentlemanmaysee,”saidtheofficer,withthatfrankkindlinesswhichispeculiartomilitarymen,tothesoldierwhowasactingaspostilion.
“Oh,thankyou,Sir,foryourkindness,”repliedVanBaerle,inamelancholytone;“thejoyofotherspainsme;pleasesparemethispang.”
“Justasyouwish.Driveon!IorderedthedrivertostopbecauseIthoughtitwouldpleaseyou,asyouaresaidtoloveflowers,andespeciallythatthefeastofwhichiscelebratedto-day.”
“Andwhatfloweristhat?”
“Thetulip.”
“Thetulip!”criedVanBaerle,“isto-daythefeastoftulips?”
“Yes,sir;butasthisspectacledispleasesyou,letusdriveon.”
Theofficerwasabouttogivetheordertoproceed,butCorneliusstoppedhim,apainfulthoughthavingstruckhim.Heasked,withfalteringvoice,—
“Istheprizegivento-day,sir?”
“Yes,theprizefortheblacktulip.”
Cornelius’scheekflushed,hiswholeframetrembled,andthecoldsweatstoodonhisbrow.
“Alas!sir,”hesaid,“allthesegoodpeoplewillbeasunfortunateasmyself,fortheywillnotseethesolemnitywhichtheyhavecometowitness,oratleasttheywillseeitincompletely.”
“Whatisityoumeantosay?”
“Imeantosay,”repliedCornelius,throwinghimselfbackinthecarriage,“thattheblacktulipwillnotbefound,exceptbyonewhomIknow.”
“Inthiscase,”saidtheofficer,“thepersonwhomyouknowhasfoundit,forthethingwhichthewholeofHaarlemislookingatatthismomentisneithermorenorlessthantheblacktulip.
