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.
