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." "Bah! am I in want of money ?" replied Claes, in the tone of a man to whom forty thousand francs was a matter of no consequence.
There was a moment's silence, during which the children made many exclamations.
"See this one, mamma!" "Oh! here's a beauty!" "Tell me the name of that one!" "What a gulf for human reason to sound!" cried Balthazar, raising his hands and clasping them with a gesture of despair.