And with a rapid and almost frantic movement he snatched the jug from the hands of Gryphus, and hid it like a treasure under his arms.
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 I shall 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.