Cornelius felt a thrill run through his frame.
“Ah!” he said, “here is Heaven sending a soul to my flower.”
And as if he had guessed correctly, nearly at that very moment the prisoner heard in the lobby a step light as that of a sylph, and the rustling of a gown, and a well-known voice, which said to him,—
“Cornelius, my friend, my very dear friend, and very happy friend, come, come quickly.”
Cornelius darted with one spring from the window to the door, his lips met those of Rosa, who told him, with a kiss,—
“It is open, it is black, here it is.”
“How! here it is?” exclaimed Cornelius.
“Yes, yes, we ought indeed to run some little risk to give a great joy; here it is, take it.”
And with one hand she raised to the level of the grating a dark lantern, which she had lit in the meanwhile, whilst with the other she held to the same height the miraculous tulip.
Cornelius uttered a cry, and was nearly fainting.