LETTER LI, 



THE INCOGNITO. 



The master of the tulips placed his finger on his lips, as 

 Harpocrates, the God of Silence, might have done, and then 

 said : " Look ! what magnificent hues ! — what a form ! — what 

 onglets ! what a carriage ! — what purity in the pencilling ! — 

 what clearness in the streaks ! — how it is cut ! — how it is 

 proportioned ! " 



" It is reaUy a faultless tulip ! " 



" What do you call it?" 



" Hush ! It is a tulip which in itself alone is worth all the 

 rest of my collection. There are but two of them in the 

 world, gentlemen." 



" But its name ?" 



" Hush ! Its name ! I dare not pronounce it without 

 forfeiting my word of honour. I should be most proud and 



