“And I have only one,” muttered Cornelius.
“Yes,” said Rosa, “to love your tulip.”
“To love you, Rosa.”
Rosa shook her head, after which followed a pause.
“Well,”—Cornelius at last broke the silence,—“well, Rosa, everything changes in the realm of nature; the flowers of spring are succeeded by other flowers; and the bees, which so tenderly caressed the violets and the wall-flowers, will flutter with just as much love about the honey-suckles, the rose, the jessamine, and the carnation.”
“What does all this mean?” asked Rosa.
“You have abandoned me, Miss Rosa, to seek your pleasure elsewhere. You have done well, and I will not complain. What claim have I to your fidelity?”
“My fidelity!” Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears, and without caring any longer to hide from Cornelius this dew of pearls dropping on her cheeks, “my fidelity! have I not been faithful to you?”
“Do you call it faithful to desert me, and to leave me here to die?”
“But, Mynheer Cornelius,” said Rosa, “am I not doing everything for you that could give you pleasure? have I not devoted myself to your tulip?”