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Page 130
"Now, my child."
The Prince was scarcely twenty-three, and Rosa eighteen or
twenty. He might therefore perhaps better have said, My
sister.
"My child," he said, with that strangely commanding accent
which chilled all those who approached him, "we are alone;
let us speak together."
Rosa began to tremble, and yet there was nothing but
kindness in the expression of the Prince's face.
"Monseigneur," she stammered.
"You have a father at Loewestein?"
"Yes, your Highness."
"You do not love him?"
"I do not; at least, not as a daughter ought to do,
Monseigneur."
"It is not right not to love one's father, but it is right
not to tell a falsehood."
Rosa cast her eyes to the ground.
"What is the reason of your not loving your father?"
"He is wicked."
"In what way does he show his wickedness?"
"He ill-treats the prisoners."
"All of them?"
"All."
"But don't you bear him a grudge for ill-treating some one
in particular?"
"My father ill-treats in particular Mynheer van Baerle, who
---- "
"Who is your lover?"
Rosa started back a step.
"Whom I love, Monseigneur," she answered proudly.
"Since when?" asked the Prince.
"Since the day when I first saw him."
"And when was that?"
"The day after that on which the Grand Pensionary John and
his brother Cornelius met with such an awful death."
The Prince compressed his lips, and knit his brow and his
eyelids dropped so as to hide his eyes for an instant. After
a momentary silence, he resumed the conversation.
"But to what can it lead to love a man who is doomed to live
and die in prison?"
"It will lead, if he lives and dies in prison, to my aiding
him in life and in death."
"And would you accept the lot of being the wife of a
prisoner?"
"As the wife of Mynheer van Baerle, I should, under any
circumstances, be the proudest and happiest woman in the
world; but ---- "
"But what?"
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