But Gryphus, obstinate, like an old man, and more and more convinced that he was discovering here a conspiracy against the Prince of Orange, rushed up to his prisoner, raising his stick; seeing, however, the impassible resolution of the captive to protect his flower-pot he was convinced that Cornelius trembled much less for his head than for his jug.
He therefore tried to wrest it from him by force.
"Halloa!" said the jailer, furious, "here, you see, you are rebelling.""Leave me my tulip," cried Van Baerle.
"Ah, yes, tulip," replied the old man, "we know well the shifts of prisoners.""But I vow to you ---- "
"Let go," repeated Gryphus, stamping his foot, "let go, or Ishall call the guard."
"Call whoever you like, but you shall not have this flower except with my life."Gryphus, exasperated, plunged his finger a second time into the soil, and now he drew out the bulb, which certainly looked quite black; and whilst Van Baerle, quite happy to have saved the vessel, did not suspect that the adversary had possessed himself of its precious contents, Gryphus hurled the softened bulb with all his force on the flags, where almost immediately after it was crushed to atoms under his heavy shoe.
Van Baerle saw the work of destruction, got a glimpse of the juicy remains of his darling bulb, and, guessing the cause of the ferocious joy of Gryphus, uttered a cry of agony, which would have melted the heart even of that ruthless jailer who some years before killed Pelisson's spider.
The idea of striking down this spiteful bully passed like lightning through the brain of the tulip-fancier.The blood rushed to his brow, and seemed like fire in his eyes, which blinded him, and he raised in his two hands the heavy jug with all the now useless earth which remained in it.One instant more, and he would have flung it on the bald head of old Gryphus.
But a cry stopped him; a cry of agony, uttered by poor Rosa, who, trembling and pale, with her arms raised to heaven, made her appearance behind the grated window, and thus interposed between her father and her friend.
Gryphus then understood the danger with which he had been threatened, and he broke out in a volley of the most terrible abuse.
"Indeed," said Cornelius to him, "you must be a very mean and spiteful fellow to rob a poor prisoner of his only consolation, a tulip bulb.""For shame, my father," Rosa chimed in, "it is indeed a crime you have committed here.""Ah, is that you, my little chatter-box?" the old man cried, boiling with rage and turning towards her; "don't you meddle with what don't concern you, but go down as quickly as possible.""Unfortunate me," continued Cornelius, overwhelmed with grief.
"After all, it is but a tulip," Gryphus resumed, as he began to be a little ashamed of himself."You may have as many tulips as you like: I have three hundred of them in my loft.""To the devil with your tulips!" cried Cornelius; "you are worthy of each other: had I a hundred thousand millions of them, I would gladly give them for the one which you have just destroyed.""Oh, so!" Gryphus said, in a tone of triumph; "now there we have it.It was not your tulip you cared for.There was in that false bulb some witchcraft, perhaps some means of correspondence with conspirators against his Highness who has granted you your life.I always said they were wrong in not cutting your head off.""Father, father!" cried Rosa.
"Yes, yes! it is better as it is now," repeated Gryphus, growing warm; "I have destroyed it, and I'll do the same again, as often as you repeat the trick.Didn't I tell you, my fine fellow, that I would make your life a hard one?""A curse on you!" Cornelius exclaimed, quite beyond himself with despair, as he gathered, with his trembling fingers, the remnants of that bulb on which he had rested so many joys and so many hopes.
"We shall plant the other to-morrow, my dear Mynheer Cornelius," said Rosa, in a low voice, who understood the intense grief of the unfortunate tulip-fancier, and who, with the pure sacred love of her innocent heart, poured these kind words, like a drop of balm, on the bleeding wounds of Cornelius.
