Dinner over, Madame Claes proposed that coffee should be served in the
garden, by the bed of tulips which adorned the centre of it. The
earthenware pots in which the bulbs were grown (the name of each
flower being engraved on slate labels) were sunk in the ground and so
arranged as to form a pyramid, at the summit of which rose a certain
dragon's-head tulip which Balthazar alone possessed. This flower,
named "tulipa Claesiana," combined the seven colors; and the curved
edges of each petal looked as though they were gilt. Balthazar's
father, who had frequently refused ten thousand florins for this
treasure, took such precautions against the theft of a single seed
that he kept the plant always in the parlor and often spent whole days
in contemplating it. The stem was enormous, erect, firm, and admirably
green; the proportions of the plant were in harmony with the
proportions of the flower, whose seven colors were distinguishable
from each other with the clearly defined brilliancy which formerly
gave such fabulous value to these dazzling plants.
"Here you have at least thirty or forty thousand francs' worth of
tulips," said the notary, looking alternately at Madame Claes and at
the many-colored pyramid. The former was too enthusiastic over the
beauty of the flowers, which the setting sun was just then
transforming into jewels, to observe the meaning of the notary's
words.
"What good do they do you?" continued Pierquin, addressing Balthazar;
"you ought to sell them.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94