dow, gazing at the stars, and listening for
every sound.

Then casting a glance from time to time towards the lobby,--

"Down there," he said, "is Rosa, watching like myself, and waiting
from minute to minute; down there, under Rosa's eyes, is the mysterious
flower, which lives, which expands, which opens, perhaps Rosa holds in
this moment the stem of the tulip between her delicate fingers. Touch it
gently, Rosa. Perhaps she touches with her lips its expanding chalice.
Touch it cautiously, Rosa, your lips are burning. Yes, perhaps at this
moment the two objects of my dearest love caress each other under the
eye of Heaven."

At this moment, a star blazed in the southern sky, and shot through the
whole horizon, falling down, as it were, on the fortress of Loewestein.

Cornelius felt a thrill run through his frame.

"Ah!" he said, "here is Heaven sending a soul to my flower."

And as if he had guessed correctly, nearly at that very moment the
prisoner heard in the lobby a step light as that of a sylph, and the
rustling of a gown, and a well-known voice, which said to him,--

"Cornelius, my friend, my very dear friend, and very happy friend, come,
come quickly."

Cornelius darted with one spring from the window to the door, his lips
met those of Rosa, who told him, with a kiss,--

"It is open, it is black, here it is."

"How! here it is?" exclaimed Cornelius.

"Yes, yes, we ought indeed to run some little risk to give a great joy;
here it is, take it."

And with one hand she raised to the level of the grating a dark lantern,
which she had lit in the meanwhile, whilst with the other she held to
the same height the miraculous tulip.

Cornelius uttered a cry, and was nearly fainting.

"Oh!" muttered he, "my God, my God, Thou dost reward me for my innocence
and my captivity, as Thou hast allowed two such flowers to grow at the
grated window of my prison!"

The tulip was beautiful, splendid, magnificent; its stem was more than
eighteen inches high; it rose from out of four green leaves, which were
as smooth and straight as iron lance-heads; the whole of the flower was
as black and shining as jet.

"Rosa," said Cornelius, almost gasping, "Rosa, there is not one moment
to lose in writing the letter."

"It is written, my dearest Cornelius," said Rosa.

"Is it, indeed?"

"Whilst the tulip opened I wrote it myself, for I did not wish to lose a
moment. Here is the letter, and tell me whether you approve of it."