“Is the prize given to-day, sir?”
“Yes, the prize for the black tulip.”
Cornelius’s cheek flushed, his whole frame trembled, and the cold sweat stood on his brow.
“Alas! sir,” he said, “all these good people will be as unfortunate as myself, for they will not see the solemnity which they have come to witness, or at least they will see it incompletely.”
“What is it you mean to say?”
“I mean to say,” replied Cornelius, throwing himself back in the carriage, “that the black tulip will not be found, except by one whom I know.”
“In this case,” said the officer, “the person whom you know has found it, for the thing which the whole of Haarlem is looking at at this moment is neither more nor less than the black tulip.”
“The black tulip!” replied Van Baerle, thrusting half his body out of the carriage window. “Where is it? where is it?”
“Down there on the throne,—don’t you see?”
“I do see it.”