ing the picture, and motioned with her knotted hand to the seat
beside her.

The young man accepted it deferentially. His eyes were on a bowed head,
framed in shadows and leaves across the room.

"I trust Fraeulein Marie is well?" he said promptly.

"Marie----"

The girl started vaguely.

"Come and greet the Herr Doctor Holtzenschuer."

She rose lightly from her place and came across the room. A soft curl,
blown by the wind, drifted across her flushes as she came.

The young man sprang to his feet. His heels clicked again as he bent low
before her.

She descended in a shy courtesy and glanced inquiringly at her
grandmother.

The old woman nodded curtly. "Go on with your papers," she said.

The girl turned again to the green window. Her head bowed itself above
the papers.

The young man's eyes followed them. He turned to the old woman beside
him. "Is it something about--the picture?" he asked.

She nodded sharply. "Private papers of Willibald Pirkheimer," she said,
"ancestor of the von Herkomers--sixteenth century. He was a friend of
Duerer's." Her lips closed crisply on the words.

He looked at her, a smile under the trim mustaches. "You hope they will
furnish a clew?" he asked tolerantly.

She made no reply. Her wrinkled face was raised to the picture.

"You have one Duerer." He motioned toward a small canvas. "Is it not
enough?"

Her eyes turned to it and flashed in disdain. "The Sodom and Gomorrah!"
She spoke scornfully. "Not so much as a copy!"

"It is signed."

She glanced at it again. There was shrewd intolerance in the old eyes.
"Do you think I cannot tell?" she said grimly. "I know the work of
Albrecht Duerer, length and breadth, line for line. You say he painted
that!" She pointed a swift finger at the picture across the room. "Have
ye looked at Lot's legs?" Her laugh cackled softly.

The young man smiled under his mustaches.

The baroness had turned again to the picture over the fireplace. "But
_that_--" she murmured softly. "It is signed in every line--in the eyes,
in the painting of the hair, in the sweep from brow to chin. It will yet
be found," she said under her breath. "It shall be found."

He looked at her, smiling. Then he raised his eyes politely to the
picture. A slow look formed behind the smile. He half started, gazing
intently at the deep, painted canvas. His glance strayed for a second to
the green window, and back again to the picture.

The old baroness roused hersel