Rosa, however, was by no means abashed, having vowed in her heart, in pursuing her cause, not to allow herself to be put down either by refusal, or abuse, or even brutality.
“Announce to the President,” she said to the servant, “that I want to speak to him about the black tulip.”
These words seemed to be an “Open Sesame,” for she soon found herself in the office of the President, Van Systens, who gallantly rose from his chair to meet her.
He was a spare little man, resembling the stem of a flower, his head forming its chalice, and his two limp arms representing the double leaf of the tulip; the resemblance was rendered complete by his waddling gait which made him even more like that flower when it bends under a breeze.
“Well, miss,” he said, “you are coming, I am told, about the affair of the black tulip.”
To the President of the Horticultural Society the Tulipa nigra was a first-rate power, which, in its character as queen of the tulips, might send ambassadors.
“Yes, sir,” answered Rosa; “I come at least to speak of it.”
“Is it doing well, then?” asked Van Systens, with a smile of tender veneration.
“Alas! sir, I don’t know,” said Rosa.
“How is that? could any misfortune have happened to it?”