The Black Tulip

And indeed, some more faces, furious and contorted with rage, showed themselves at the windows, crying, —

“Escaped, gone, they have helped them off!”

And the people in the street repeated, with fearful imprecations, —

“Escaped gone! After them, and catch them!”

“Monseigneur, it seems that Mynheer Cornelius has really escaped,” said the officer.

“Yes, from prison, perhaps, but not from the town; you will see, Van Deken, that the poor fellow will find the gate closed against him which he hoped to find open.”

“Has an order been given to close the town gates, Monseigneur?”

“No, – at least I do not think so; who could have given such an order?”

“Indeed, but what makes your Highness suppose?”

“There are fatalities,” Monseigneur replied, in an offhand manner; “and the greatest men have sometimes fallen victims to such fatalities.”

At these words the officer felt his blood run cold, as somehow or other he was convinced that the prisoner was lost.

At this moment the roar of the multitude broke forth like thunder, for it was now quite certain that Cornelius de Witt was no longer in the prison.

Cornelius and John, after driving along the pond, had taken the main street, which leads to the Tol-Hek, giving directions to the coachman to slacken his pace, in order not to excite any suspicion.

But when, on having proceeded half-way down that street, the man felt that he had left the prison and death behind, and before him there was life and liberty, he neglected every precaution, and set his horses off at a gallop.

All at once he stopped.

“What is the matter?” asked John, putting his head out of the coach window.

“Oh, my masters!” cried the coachman, “it is – ”

Terror choked the voice of the honest fellow.

“Well, say what you have to say!” urged the Grand Pensionary.

“The gate is closed, that’s what it is.”

“How is this? It is not usual to close the gate by day.”

“Just look!”

John de Witt leaned out of the window, and indeed saw that the man was right.

“Never mind, but drive on,” said John, “I have with me the order for the commutation of the punishment, the gate-keeper will let us through.”

The carriage moved along, but it was evident that the driver was no longer urging his horses with the same degree of confidence.

Moreover, as John de Witt put his head out of the carriage window, he was seen and recognized by a brewer, who, being behind his companions, was just shutting his door in all haste to join them at the Buytenhof. He uttered a cry of surprise, and ran after two other men before him, whom he overtook about a hundred yards farther on, and told them what he had seen. The three men then stopped, looking after the carriage, being however not yet quite sure as to whom it contained.

The carriage in the meanwhile arrived at the Tol-Hek.

“Open!” cried the coachman.

“Open!” echoed the gatekeeper, from the threshold of his lodge; “it’s all very well to say ‘Open!’ but what am I to do it with?”

“With the key, to be sure!” said the coachman.

“With the key! Oh, yes! but if you have not got it?”

“How is that? Have not you got the key?” asked the coachman.

“No, I haven’t.”

“What has become of it?”

“Well, they have taken it from me.”

“Who?”

“Some one, I dare say, who had a mind that no one should leave the town.”

“My good man,” said the Grand Pensionary, putting out his head from the window, and risking all for gaining all; “my good man, it is for me, John de Witt, and for my brother Cornelius, who I am taking away into exile.”

“Oh, Mynheer de Witt! I am indeed very much grieved,” said the gatekeeper, rushing towards the carriage; “but, upon my sacred word, the key has been taken from me.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“By whom?”

“By a pale and thin young man, of about twenty-two.”

“And wherefore did you give it up to him?”

“Because he showed me an order, signed and sealed.”

“By whom?”

“By the gentlemen of the Town-hall.”

“Well, then,” said Cornelius calmly, “our doom seems to be fixed.”

“Do you know whether the same precaution has been taken at the other gates?”

“I do not.”