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- Александр Дюма
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And
also
it
came
to
pass
,
that
one
evening
in
the
beginning
of
February
,
just
when
the
stars
were
beginning
to
twinkle
,
Cornelius
heard
on
the
staircase
of
the
little
turret
a
voice
which
thrilled
through
him
.
He
put
his
hand
on
his
heart
,
and
listened
.
It
was
the
sweet
harmonious
voice
of
Rosa
.
Let
us
confess
it
,
Cornelius
was
not
so
stupefied
with
surprise
,
or
so
beyond
himself
with
joy
,
as
he
would
have
been
but
for
the
pigeon
,
which
,
in
answer
to
his
letter
,
had
brought
back
hope
to
him
under
her
empty
wing
;
and
,
knowing
Rosa
,
he
expected
,
if
the
note
had
ever
reached
her
,
to
hear
of
her
whom
he
loved
,
and
also
of
his
three
darling
bulbs
.
He
rose
,
listened
once
more
,
and
bent
forward
towards
the
door
.
Yes
,
they
were
indeed
the
accents
which
had
fallen
so
sweetly
on
his
heart
at
the
Hague
.
The
question
now
was
,
whether
Rosa
,
who
had
made
the
journey
from
the
Hague
to
Loewestein
,
and
who
--
Cornelius
did
not
understand
how
--
had
succeeded
even
in
penetrating
into
the
prison
,
would
also
be
fortunate
enough
in
penetrating
to
the
prisoner
himself
.
Whilst
Cornelius
,
debating
this
point
within
himself
,
was
building
all
sorts
of
castles
in
the
air
,
and
was
struggling
between
hope
and
fear
,
the
shutter
of
the
grating
in
the
door
opened
,
and
Rosa
,
beaming
with
joy
,
and
beautiful
in
her
pretty
national
costume
--
but
still
more
beautiful
from
the
grief
which
for
the
last
five
months
had
blanched
her
cheeks
--
pressed
her
little
face
against
the
wire
grating
of
the
window
,
saying
to
him
,
--
"
Oh
,
sir
,
sir
!
here
I
am
!
"
Cornelius
stretched
out
his
arms
,
and
,
looking
to
heaven
,
uttered
a
cry
of
joy
,
--
