Черный тюльпан
The Second Bulb
Andonthefollowingevening,afterthefirstexchangeofsalutations,sheretiredastep,lookingathimwithaglance,theexpressionofwhichwouldhaverejoicedhisheartcouldhebuthaveseenit.
“Well,”shesaid,“sheisup.”
“Sheisup!Who?What?”askedCornelius,whodidnotventureonabeliefthatRosawould,ofherownaccord,haveabridgedthetermofhisprobation.
“She?Well,mydaughter,thetulip,”saidRosa.
“What!”criedCornelius,“yougivemepermission,then?”
“Ido,”saidRosa,withthetoneofanaffectionatemotherwhograntsapleasuretoherchild.
“Ah,Rosa!”saidCornelius,puttinghislipstothegratingwiththehopeoftouchingacheek,ahand,aforehead,—anything,inshort.
Hetouchedsomethingmuchbetter,—twowarmandhalfopenlips.
Rosautteredaslightscream.
Corneliusunderstoodthathemustmakehastetocontinuetheconversation.HeguessedthatthisunexpectedkisshadfrightenedRosa.
“Isitgrowingupstraight?”
“Straightasarocket,”saidRosa.
“Howhigh?”
“Atleasttwoinches.”
“Oh,Rosa,takegoodcareofit,andweshallsoonseeitgrowquickly.”
“CanItakemorecareofit?”saidshe.“Indeed,Ithinkofnothingelsebutthetulip.”
“Ofnothingelse,Rosa?Why,nowIshallgrowjealousinmyturn.”
“Oh,youknowthattothinkofthetulipistothinkofyou;Ineverlosesightofit.Iseeitfrommybed,onawakingitisthefirstobjectthatmeetsmyeyes,andonfallingasleepthelastonwhichtheyrest.
