"So your Highness did not know it? but I am telling you the exact truth; if it were not for your Royal Highness, she would be his mistress. I am only sorry you gave her that watch."
"I don't regret it at all."
"The jade deserves to be whipped."
"Few people meet their deserts," answered Philip.
"Too true, too true, your Royal Highness. For instance, I have discovered a girl—O Prince, there is not such another in this city or in the whole world! Few have seen this angel.—Pooh! Rollina is nothing to her. Listen—a girl tall and slender as a palm tree—with a complexion like the red glow of evening upon snow—eyes like sunbeams—rich golden tresses,—in short, the most beautiful creature I ever beheld—a Venus—a goddess in rustic attire. Your Highness, we must give her chase."
"A peasant girl?"
"A mere rustic; but then you must see her yourself, and you will love her. But my descriptions are nothing. Imagine the embodiment of all that you can conceive most charming—add to that, artlessness, grace, and innocence. But the difficulty is to catch sight of her. She seldom leaves her mother. I know her seat in church, and have watched her for many Sundays past, as she walked with her mother to the Elm-Gate. I have ascertained that a handsome young fellow, a gardener, is making court to her. He can't marry her, for he is a poor devil, and she has nothing. The mother is the widow of a poor weaver."
"And the mother's name is?"
"Widow Bittner, in Milk Street; and the daughter, fairest of flowers, is in fact called Rose."
Philip's blood boiled at the sound of the beloved name. His first inclination was to knock the communicative Dutchman down. He restrained himself, however, and only asked: