Чорний тюльпан
The Family Cell
Thusleftalone,Corneliusthrewhimselfonhisbed,buthesleptnot,hekepthiseyefixedonthenarrowwindow,barredwithiron,whichlookedontheBuytenhof;andinthiswaysawfrombehindthetreesthatfirstpalebeamoflightwhichmorningshedsontheearthasawhitemantle.
NowandthenduringthenighthorseshadgallopedatasmartpaceovertheBuytenhof,theheavytrampofthepatrolshadresoundedfromthepavement,andtheslowmatchesofthearquebuses,flaringintheeastwind,hadthrownupatintervalsasuddenglareasfarastothepanesofhiswindow.
Butwhentherisingsunbegantogildthecopingstonesatthegableendsofthehouses,Cornelius,eagertoknowwhethertherewasanylivingcreatureabouthim,approachedthewindow,andcastasadlookroundthecircularyardbeforehim.
Attheendoftheyardadarkmass,tintedwithadingybluebythemorningdawn,rosebeforehim,itsdarkoutlinesstandingoutincontrasttothehousesalreadyilluminatedbythepalelightofearlymorning.
Corneliusrecognisedthegibbet.
Onitweresuspendedtwoshapelesstrunks,whichindeedwerenomorethanbleedingskeletons.
