“What do you mean?”
“I mean to say that at Loewestein the man who here calls himself Isaac Boxtel went by the name of Master Jacob.”
“What do you say to that, Master Boxtel?”
“I say that this damsel lies, your Highness.”
“You deny, therefore, having ever been at Loewestein?”
Boxtel hesitated; the fixed and searching glance of the proud eye of the Prince prevented him from lying.
“I cannot deny having been at Loewestein, your Highness, but I deny having stolen the tulip.”
“You have stolen it, and that from my room,” cried Rosa, with indignation.
“I deny it.”
“Now listen to me. Do you deny having followed me into the garden, on the day when I prepared the border where I was to plant it? Do you deny having followed me into the garden when I pretended to plant it? Do you deny that, on that evening, you rushed after my departure to the spot where you hoped to find the bulb? Do you deny having dug in the ground with your hands—but, thank God! in vain, as it was a stratagem to discover your intentions. Say, do you deny all this?”