reams.

Suddenly the bell of his cabinet was rung much more violently than
usual.

Cornelius, startled, laid his hands on his bulbs, and turned round.

"Who is here?" he asked.

"Sir," answered the servant, "it is a messenger from the Hague."

"A messenger from the Hague! What does he want?"

"Sir, it is Craeke."

"Craeke! the confidential servant of Mynheer John de Witt? Good, let him
wait."

"I cannot wait," said a voice in the lobby.

And at the same time forcing his way in, Craeke rushed into the
dry-room.

This abrupt entrance was such an infringement on the established rules
of the household of Cornelius van Baerle, that the latter, at the sight
of Craeke, almost convulsively moved his hand which covered the bulbs,
so that two of them fell on the floor, one of them rolling under a small
table, and the other into the fireplace.

"Zounds!" said Cornelius, eagerly picking up his precious bulbs, "what's
the matter?"

"The matter, sir!" said Craeke, laying a paper on the large table, on
which the third bulb was lying,--"the matter is, that you are requested
to read this paper without losing one moment."

And Craeke, who thought he had remarked in the streets of Dort symptoms
of a tumult similar to that which he had witnessed before his departure
from the Hague, ran off without even looking behind him.

"All right! all right! my dear Craeke," said Cornelius, stretching his
arm under the table for the bulb; "your paper shall be read, indeed it
shall."

Then, examining the bulb which he held in the hollow of his hand, he
said: "Well, here is one of them uninjured. That confounded Craeke! thus
to rush into my dry-room; let us now look after the other."

And without laying down the bulb which he already held, Baerle went to
the fireplace, knelt down and stirred with the tip of his finger the
ashes, which fortunately were quite cold.

He at once felt the other bulb.

"Well, here it is," he said; and, looking at it with almost fatherly
affection, he exclaimed, "Uninjured as the first!"

At this very instant, and whilst Cornelius, still on his knees, was
examining his pets, the door of the dry-room was so violently shaken,
and opened in such a brusque manner, that Cornelius felt rising in his
cheeks and his ears the glow of that evil counsellor which is called
wrath.

"Now, what is it again," he demanded; "are people going mad here?"

"Oh, sir! sir!" cried the servant, rushing into the dry-room with