"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?"

Boxtel did not deem it fit to answer these several charges, but, turning
to the Prince, continued,--

"I have now for twenty years grown tulips at Dort. I have even acquired
some reputation in this art; one of my hybrids is entered in the
catalogue under the name of an illustrious personage. I have dedicated
it to the King of Portugal. The truth in the matter is as I shall now
tell your Highness. This damsel knew that I had produced the black
tulip, and, in concert with a lover of hers in the fortress of
Loewestein, she formed the plan of ruining me by appropriating to
herself the prize of a hundred thousand guilders, which, with the help
of your Highness's justice, I hope to gain."

"Yah!" cried Rosa, beyond herself with anger.

"Silence!" said the Prince.

Then, turning to Boxtel, he said,--

"And who is that prisoner to whom you allude as the lover of this young
woman?"

Rosa nearly swooned, for Cornelius was designated as a dangerous
prisoner, and recommended by the Prince to the especial surveillance of
the jailer.

Nothing could have been more agreeable to Boxtel than this question.

"This prisoner," he said, "is a man whose name in itself will prove to
your Highness what trust you may place in his probity. He is a prisoner
of state, who was once condemned to death."

"And his name?"

Rosa hid her face in her hands with a movement of despair.

"His name is Cornelius van Baerle," said Boxtel, "and he is godson of
that villain Cornelius de Witt."

The Prince gave a start, his generally quiet