g peasants, gnawing
smoked eels as if they were sticks of vanilla sweetmeat; neither is our
interest in the lovely Dutch girls, with red cheeks and ivory bosoms;
nor in the fat, round mynheers, who had never left their homes before;
nor in the sallow, thin travellers from Ceylon or Java; nor in the
thirsty crowds, who quenched their thirst with pickled cucumbers;--no,
so far as we are concerned, the real interest of the situation, the
fascinating, dramatic interest, is not to be found here.

Our interest is in a smiling, sparkling face to be seen amid the members
of the Horticultural Committee; in the person with a flower in his belt,
combed and brushed, and all clad in scarlet,--a colour which makes his
black hair and yellow skin stand out in violent contrast.

This hero, radiant with rapturous joy, who had the distinguished honour
of making the people forget the speech of Van Systens, and even the
presence of the Stadtholder, was Isaac Boxtel, who saw, carried on his
right before him, the black tulip, his pretended daughter; and on his
left, in a large purse, the hundred thousand guilders in glittering gold
pieces, towards which he was constantly squinting, fearful of losing
sight of them for one moment.

Now and then Boxtel quickened his step to rub elbows for a moment with
Van Systens. He borrowed a little importance from everybody to make a
kind of false importance for himself, as he had stolen Rosa's tulip to
effect his own glory, and thereby make his fortune.

Another quarter of an hour and the Prince will arrive and the procession
will halt for the last time; after the tulip is placed on its throne,
the Prince, yielding precedence to this rival for the popular adoration,
will take a magnificently emblazoned parchment, on which is written the
name of the grower; and his Highness, in a loud and audible tone, will
proclaim him to be the discoverer of a wonder; that Holland, by the
instrumentality of him, Boxtel, has forced Nature to produce a black
flower, which shall henceforth be called Tulipa nigra Boxtellea.

From time to time, however, Boxtel withdrew his eyes for a moment from
the tulip and the purse, timidly looking among the crowd, for more than
anything he dreaded to descry there the pale face of the pretty Frisian
girl.

She would have been a spectre spoiling the joy of the festival for him,
just as Banquo's ghost did that of Macbeth.

And yet, if the truth must be told, this wretch, who had stolen