ndmamma." The girl held up the packet in her hand.

"What have ye made out?" The old hand closed upon them.

"He was Duerer's friend," said the girl. "There are letters to him--five
or six. And he tells about a picture--in the journal--a picture Albrecht
Duerer gave to him." She glanced down at the wrinkled, working face. "It
was unsigned, grandmamma--and it was the head of the Saviour."

The old woman's throat moved loosely. Her hands grasped the stout cane.

With a half sigh, she rose to her feet and tottered across the room.
"Fool--fool--" she muttered, looking up to the mystical, waiting face.
"To leave no mark--no sign--but that!" She shook the yellow papers in
her hand.

A question shot into the old eyes. She held out the papers.

"What was it dated, Marie?--that place in the journal--look and see."

The girl took the papers and moved again to the window. She opened one
and smoothed it thoughtfully, running her eye along the page. She shook
her head slowly. "There is no date, grandmamma," she said. "But it must
be after Duerer's death. He speaks of Frau Duerer"--a smile shaded her
lips--"he doesn't like her very well, I think. When did Duerer die,
grandmamma?" She looked up from the paper.

"April 6, 1528," said the old woman promptly.

The girl's eyes grew round and misty. "Four hundred years ago--almost,"
she murmured softly. She looked down, a little awed, at the paper in her
hand.

"It is very old," she said.

The old woman nodded sharply. Her eyes were on the papers. "Take good
care of them," she croaked; "they may tell it to us yet."

She straightened her bent figure and glanced toward the door.

A wooden butler was bowing himself to the floor. "The Herr Professor
Doctor Polonius Holtzenschuer," he announced grandly.

A dapper young man with trim mustaches and spotless boots advanced into
the room.

The girl by the window swayed a breath. The clear color had mounted in
her cheek.

The old woman waited, immovable. Her hands were clasped above the stout
cane and her bead-like eyes surveyed the advancing figure.

At two yards' distance it paused. The heels came together with a swift
click. He bowed in military salute.

The old woman achieved a stiff courtesy and waited. The dim eyes peered
at him shrewdly.

"I have the honor to pay my respects to the Baroness von Herkomer," said
the young man, with deep politeness.

The baroness assented gruffly. She seated herself on a large divan,
fac