As it was just the time for the Easter fair and many strangers were arriving in Leipsic the travellers passed through the Peterstrasse, across the market-place and entered their newly built house without attracting any attention.

It was too dark for them to see the statue of Minerva on the peak of the high gable and the sun-dial on its face with the circle of animals, but the lighted windows on the ground-floor and in the first story gave the house a hospitable air.

Frau Schimmel who had long been awaiting their arrival went out to meet them and the new man servant held the lantern so that they could see her curtseys.

“May the holy saints bless your homecoming!” the old lady called out, and Melchior felt himself choke at the host of sweet memories evoked by this greeting—­of how his mother used to fold his hands and teach him to pray to the holy patrons of the house, of the sad hour when he had received the news of his father’s death—­and to his astonishment he felt the warm tears running down his cheeks, the first he had shed for many years and almost before he knew it himself, he had caught Frau Schimmel to his heart and kissed her tenderly.

Then he turned to his slim young wife, who with the boy was standing behind him, and presented her to the old housekeeper:  “The dearest treasure that I won in Italy!  I commend her to your love.”

Frau Schimmel raised the beautiful Italian’s hand to her lips and lifted the little boy and hugged him.  Melchior in the mean while hurried to the entrance door, there he bowed three times and solemnly lifted aloft his arms toward the evening-star that was just showing itself above the roof of a house across the market-place.

The old housekeeper noticed this, and rejoiced for she thought that Melchior was returning thanks to the holy saints for a safe journey, but she was disillusioned when she heard him open his lips and cry towards heaven an invocation which was neither German nor Latin, for she knew the sound of the latter tongue, having heard it so often at mass, but a combination of strange sounding words more like those that she used to hear her late master muttering over his work in the laboratory, with his son’s letter before him.  It was certainly no Christian prayer and her heart sank within her.  When the doctor had ended the ceremony which for all she knew might be an invocation of evil spirits, and entered the house with his wife and child, she went up to him and without a moment’s indecision made the sign of the cross on his breast and another on the curly head of the child.  Melchior laughed at her but did not rebuff her.  Soon the travellers were seated about the neatly laid table in their own house and Frau Schimmel had her reward in seeing Melchior enjoy the home-made dishes.  And little Zeno—­for that was the name of the Court apothecary’s grandchild—­drink the good milk and munch the butter cakes which she had baked to celebrate their arrival.  But the young wife hardly tasted anything.