come to-morrow."

"Good heavens!" said Cornelius, "why can't you come to-morrow?"

"Mynheer Cornelius, I have lots of things to do."

"And I have only one," muttered Cornelius.

"Yes," said Rosa, "to love your tulip."

"To love you, Rosa."

Rosa shook her head, after which followed a pause.

"Well,"--Cornelius at last broke the silence,--"well, Rosa, everything
changes in the realm of nature; the flowers of spring are succeeded by
other flowers; and the bees, which so tenderly caressed the violets
and the wall-flowers, will flutter with just as much love about the
honey-suckles, the rose, the jessamine, and the carnation."

"What does all this mean?" asked Rosa.

"You have abandoned me, Miss Rosa, to seek your pleasure elsewhere.
You have done well, and I will not complain. What claim have I to your
fidelity?"

"My fidelity!" Rosa exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears, and without
caring any longer to hide from Cornelius this dew of pearls dropping on
her cheeks, "my fidelity! have I not been faithful to you?"

"Do you call it faithful to desert me, and to leave me here to die?"

"But, Mynheer Cornelius," said Rosa, "am I not doing everything for you
that could give you pleasure? have I not devoted myself to your tulip?"

"You are bitter, Rosa, you reproach me with the only unalloyed pleasure
which I have had in this world."

"I reproach you with nothing, Mynheer Cornelius, except, perhaps,
with the intense grief which I felt when people came to tell me at the
Buytenhof that you were about to be put to death."

"You are displeased, Rosa, my sweet girl, with my loving flowers."

"I am not displeased with your loving them, Mynheer Cornelius, only it
makes me sad to think that you love them better than you do me."

"Oh, my dear, dear Rosa! look how my hands tremble; look at my pale
cheek, hear how my heart beats. It is for you, my love, not for
the black tulip. Destroy the bulb, destroy the germ of that flower,
extinguish the gentle light of that innocent and delightful dream, to
which I have accustomed myself; but love me, Rosa, love me; for I feel
deeply that I love but you."

"Yes, after the black tulip," sighed Rosa, who at last no longer
coyly withdrew her warm hands from the grating, as Cornelius most
affectionately kissed them.

"Above and before everything in this world, Rosa."

"May I believe you?"

"As you believe in your own existence."

"Well, then, be it so; but loving me does not b