Черный тюльпан

The Third Bulb

           

           Then,turningtowardsBoxtel,sheasked,

           “Thetulipisyours?”

           “Itis.”

           “Howmanybulbswerethereofit?”

           Boxtelhesitatedforamoment,butafterashortconsiderationhecametotheconclusionthatshewouldnotaskthisquestioniftherewerenonebesidesthetwobulbsofwhichhehadknownalready.Hethereforeanswered,

           “Three.”

           “Whathasbecomeofthesebulbs?”

           “Oh!whathasbecomeofthem?Well,onehasfailed;thesecondhasproducedtheblacktulip.”

           “Andthethird?”

           “Thethird!”

           “Thethird,whereisit?”

           “Ihaveitathome,”saidBoxtel,quiteconfused.

           “Athome?Where?AtLoewestein,oratDort?”

           “AtDort,”saidBoxtel.

           “Youlie!”criedRosa.“Monseigneur,”shecontinued,whilstturningroundtothePrince,“Iwilltellyouthetruestoryofthesethreebulbs.Thefirstwascrushedbymyfatherintheprisoner’scell,andthismanisquiteawareofit,forhehimselfwantedtogetholdofit,and,beingbalkedinhishope,heverynearlyfelloutwithmyfather,whohadbeenthecauseofhisdisappointment.Thesecondbulb,plantedbyme,hasproducedtheblacktulip,andthethirdandlast”sayingthis,shedrewitfromherbosom“hereitis,intheverysamepaperinwhichitwaswrappeduptogetherwiththetwoothers.Whenabouttobeledtothescaffold,CorneliusvanBaerlegavemeallthethree.Takeit,Monseigneur,takeit.”

           AndRosa,unfoldingthepaper,offeredthebulbtothePrince,whotookitfromherhandsandexaminedit.

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