Чорний тюльпан
Cornelius van Baerle’s Will
Thehead-dressturnedround,andCorneliusbeheldthefaceofRosa,blanchedwithgrief,andherbeautifuleyesstreamingwithtears.
ShewentuptoCornelius,crossingherarmsonherheavingbreast.
“Oh,sir,sir!”shesaid,butsobschokedherutterance.
“Mygoodgirl,”Corneliusrepliedwithemotion,“whatdoyouwish?Imaytellyouthatmytimeonearthisshort.”
“Icometoaskafavourofyou,”saidRosa,extendingherarmspartlytowardshimandpartlytowardsheaven.
“Don’tweepso,Rosa,”saidtheprisoner,“foryourtearsgomuchmoretomyheartthanmyapproachingfate,andyouknow,thelessguiltyaprisoneris,themoreitishisdutytodiecalmly,andevenjoyfully,ashediesamartyr.Come,there’sadear,don’tcryanymore,andtellmewhatyouwant,myprettyRosa.”
Shefellonherknees.“Forgivemyfather,”shesaid.
“Yourfather,yourfather!”saidCornelius,astonished.
“Yes,hehasbeensoharshtoyou;butitishisnature,heissotoeveryone,andyouarenottheonlyonewhomhehasbullied.”
“Heispunished,mydearRosa,morethanpunished,bytheaccidentthathasbefallenhim,andIforgivehim.”
“Ithankyou,sir,”saidRosa.“Andnowtellme—oh,tellme—canIdoanythingforyou?”
“Youcandryyourbeautifuleyes,mydearchild,”answeredCornelius,withagood-temperedsmile.
“ButwhatcanIdoforyou,—foryouImean?”
“AmanwhohasonlyonehourlongertolivemustbeagreatSybaritestilltowantanything,mydearRosa.
