what she saw was indeed something wonderful; the Court apothecary held
out to her in his carefully washed hands a sheet of gray paper on which
in red crayon was an exquisite drawing of a beautiful young woman with a
lovely child on her lap. Then, having charged her not to speak of it to
any one, he confided to her that this beautiful woman was Melchior's
young wife, and the little boy their first-born and his grandchild who
would carry on the name of Ueberhell. He had given his consent to his
son's marriage with the daughter of his master in Bologna and now he--old
Caspar Ueberhell--was the happiest of men, and when the doctor returned
to him with wife and child and the thing for which he was so earnestly
searching, why, he would not envy the emperor on his throne. When the
widow Vorkel noticed the tears that were streaming down the old man's
sunken cheeks, her eyes too began to overflow, and after that she often
crept to the chest where the portrait was kept to gaze on the little one
and to press her lips on the same spot whence the grandfather's had
already worn away some of the red crayon.

Herr Ueberhell's joy had been so great that now the longing for his son
took deeper hold of him, and he lost strength day by day, yet Frau Vorkel
could not persuade him to see a physician. He often, however, inhaled
deep draughts of a concoction that he had made in the laboratory with his
son's letter before him, and as he seemed to derive no benefit from it he
would distil it again and mix with it new drugs.

One evening-after having spent the whole day in the laboratory--he
retired unusually early, and when Frau Vorkel went into his room to carry
him his "nightcap" he forgot his usual amiable and suave manner and
growled out at her angrily: "After all these years, can't you prepare my
bed for the night without making me burn myself? Must you be inattentive
as well as stupid?"