seemed to see Frau Bianca--so the young Italian was called--lying on her
bier, a light veil over her, and a wreath of lilies-of-the-valley on her
raven hair. A sad quiet face!

Frau Schimmel's vision must have been caused by the young wife's
excessive paleness. "White as snow, black as ebony" fitted her, as well
the beauty of the fairy tale, only "red as blood" was wanting. She was
also as tall and slender as the lilies in the little garden that the
Court apothecary had owned outside the Petersthor.

After supper Frau Schimmel helped the mother to bathe the little Zeno and
to put him to bed, and Melchior also assisted at the performance. As the
old lady looked from mother to child a great pity filled her heart for
the dear son of her late master who had staked his happiness on a
creature so ethereal that the first wind might blow her away; such
delicate perfection as that, if her experience did not deceive her, was
hardly adapted to the needs of an everyday German husband. But then did
Melchior look like such an one? No.

Again she felt a cold shiver go down her back, for Melchior had taken the
bath sheet and was holding it in front of him waiting to wrap the child
in it as it was taken out of its tub, and it seemed to her as if he had
on a shroud and his bloodless emaciated face with his black hair and
moustache looked ghostly over the top of it.

It annoyed her that she should have these stupid, sad thoughts on the
occasion of such a happy home coming!

She did her best to drive them away and the child helped her, for it, at
least, looked lively enough as it sat in the warm water, and kicked, and