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Page 92
This was indeed a great defect in Rosa.
Cornelius confessed to himself, sighing, that woman was not
perfect.
Part of the night he thought of this imperfection; that is
to say, so long as he was awake he thought of Rosa.
After having fallen asleep, he dreamed of her.
But the Rosa of his dreams was by far more perfect than the
Rosa of real life. Not only did the Rosa of his dreams speak
of the tulip, but also brought to him a black one in a china
vase.
Cornelius then awoke, trembling with joy, and muttering, --
"Rosa, Rosa, I love you."
And as it was already day, he thought it right not to fall
asleep again, and he continued following up the line of
thought in which his mind was engaged when he awoke.
Ah! if Rosa had only conversed about the tulip, Cornelius
would have preferred her to Queen Semiramis, to Queen
Cleopatra, to Queen Elizabeth, to Queen Anne of Austria;
that is to say, to the greatest or most beautiful queens
whom the world has seen.
But Rosa had forbidden it under pain of not returning; Rosa
had forbidden the least mention of the tulip for three days.
That meant seventy-two hours given to the lover to be sure;
but it was seventy-two hours stolen from the horticulturist.
There was one consolation: of the seventy-two hours during
which Rosa would not allow the tulip to be mentioned,
thirty-six had passed already; and the remaining thirty-six
would pass quickly enough: eighteen with waiting for the
evening's interview, and eighteen with rejoicing in its
remembrance.
Rosa came at the same hour, and Cornelius submitted most
heroically to the pangs which the compulsory silence
concerning the tulip gave him.
His fair visitor, however, was well aware that, to command
on the one point, people must yield on another; she
therefore no longer drew back her hands from the grating,
and even allowed Cornelius tenderly to kiss her beautiful
golden tresses.
Poor girl! she had no idea that these playful little lovers'
tricks were much more dangerous than speaking of the tulip
was; but she became aware of the fact as she returned with a
beating heart, with glowing cheeks, dry lips, and moist
eyes.
And on the following evening, after the first exchange of
salutations, she retired a step, looking at him with a
glance, the expression of which would have rejoiced his
heart could he but have seen it.
"Well," she said, "she is up."
"She is up! Who? What?" asked Cornelius, who did not venture
on a belief that Rosa would, of her own accord, have
abridged the term of his probation.
"She? Well, my daughter, the tulip," said Rosa.
"What!" cried Cornelius, "you give me permission, then?"
"I do," said Rosa, with the tone of an affectionate mother
who grants a pleasure to her child.
"Ah, Rosa!" said Cornelius, putting his lips to the grating
with the hope of touching a cheek, a hand, a forehead, --
anything, in short.
He touched something much better, -- two warm and half open
lips.
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