Ah!" The prisoner's prayer ended in a sigh of ecstasy; his lips met those of the maiden,--not by chance, nor by stratagem, but as Saint-Preux's was to meet the lips of Julie a hundred years later.
Rosa made her escape.
Cornelius stood with his heart upon his lips, and his face glued to the wicket in the door.
He was fairly choking with happiness and joy.

He opened his window, and gazed long, with swelling heart, at the cloudless vault of heaven, and the moon, which shone like silver upon the two-fold stream flowing from far beyond the hills.

He filled his lungs with the pure, sweet air, while his brain dwelt upon thoughts of happiness, and his heart overflowed with gratitude and religious fervour.
"Oh Thou art always watching from on high, my God," he cried, half prostrate, his glowing eyes fixed upon the stars: "forgive me that I almost doubted Thy existence during these latter days, for Thou didst hide Thy face behind the clouds, and wert for a moment lost to my sight, O Thou merciful God, Thou pitying Father everlasting! But to-day, this evening, and to-night, again I see Thee in all Thy wondrous glory in the mirror of Thy heavenly abode, and more clearly still in the mirror of my grateful heart." He was well again, the poor invalid; the wretched captive was free once more.
During part of the night Cornelius, with his heart full of joy and delight, remained at his window, gazing at the stars, and listening for every sound.
Then casting a glance from time to time towards the lobby,-- "Down there," he said, "is Rosa, watching like myself, and waiting from minute to minute; down there, under Rosa's eyes, is the mysterious flower, which lives, which expands, which opens, perhaps Rosa holds in this moment the stem of the tulip between her delicate fingers.

Touch it gently, Rosa.

Perhaps she touches with her lips its expanding chalice.
Touch it cautiously, Rosa, your lips are burning.