“Of nothing else, Rosa? Why, now I shall grow jealous in my turn.”
“Oh, you know that to think of the tulip is to think of you; I never lose sight of it. I see it from my bed, on awaking it is the first object that meets my eyes, and on falling asleep the last on which they rest. During the day I sit and work by its side, for I have never left my chamber since I put it there.”
“You are right Rosa, it is your dowry, you know.”
“Yes, and with it I may marry a young man of twenty-six or twenty-eight years, whom I shall be in love with.”
“Don’t talk in that way, you naughty girl.”
That evening Cornelius was one of the happiest of men. Rosa allowed him to press her hand in his, and to keep it as long as he would, besides which he might talk of his tulip as much as he liked.
From that hour every day marked some progress in the growth of the tulip and in the affection of the two young people.
At one time it was that the leaves had expanded, and at another that the flower itself had formed.
Great was the joy of Cornelius at this news, and his questions succeeded one another with a rapidity which gave proof of their importance.
“Formed!” exclaimed Cornelius, “is it really formed?”