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Page 85
Cornelius had paper and a pencil which Rosa had brought to
him. He guessed that she expected an answer, but that she
would not come before the evening to fetch it. He therefore
wrote on a piece of paper, similar to that which he had
received, --
"It was not my anxiety about the tulip that has made me ill,
but the grief at not seeing you."
After Gryphus had made his last visit of the day, and
darkness had set in, he slipped the paper under the door,
and listened with the most intense attention, but he neither
heard Rosa's footsteps nor the rustling of her gown.
He only heard a voice as feeble as a breath, and gentle like
a caress, which whispered through the grated little window
in the door the word, --
"To-morrow!"
Now to-morrow was the eighth day. For eight days Cornelius
and Rosa had not seen each other.
Chapter 20
The Events which took place during those Eight Days
On the following evening, at the usual hour, Van Baerle
heard some one scratch at the grated little window, just as
Rosa had been in the habit of doing in the heyday of their
friendship.
Cornelius being, as may easily be imagined, not far off from
the door, perceived Rosa, who at last was waiting again for
him with her lamp in her hand.
Seeing him so sad and pale, she was startled, and said, --
"You are ill, Mynheer Cornelius?"
"Yes, I am," he answered, as indeed he was suffering in mind
and in body.
"I saw that you did not eat," said Rosa; "my father told me
that you remained in bed all day. I then wrote to calm your
uneasiness concerning the fate of the most precious object
of your anxiety."
"And I," said Cornelius, "I have answered. Seeing your
return, my dear Rosa, I thought you had received my letter."
"It is true; I have received it."
"You cannot this time excuse yourself with not being able to
read. Not only do you read very fluently, but also you have
made marvellous progress in writing."
"Indeed, I have not only received, but also read your note.
Accordingly I am come to see whether there might not be some
remedy to restore you to health."
"Restore me to health?" cried Cornelius; "but have you any
good news to communicate to me?"
Saying this, the poor prisoner looked at Rosa, his eyes
sparkling with hope.
Whether she did not, or would not, understand this look,
Rosa answered gravely, --
"I have only to speak to you about your tulip, which, as I
well know, is the object uppermost in your mind."
Rosa pronounced those few words in a freezing tone, which
cut deeply into the heart of Cornelius. He did not suspect
what lay hidden under this appearance of indifference with
which the poor girl affected to speak of her rival, the
black tulip.
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