ory, grandmamma," said the girl timidly.

The old woman leaned forward, gray with rage, pulling at the
closed door. "Chemistry lab--" Her breath came in pants. "He
will--destroy--burn--melt it!" Four men lifted down the huge parcel from
the carriage and turned toward the stone door. "Stop!" she gestured
wildly to them.

The door flew open. The young scientist stood before her, bowing and
smiling. She shook a knotted finger at him. "Stop those men!" she cried
sternly.

At a gesture the men waited. She descended from the carriage, shaking
and suspicious, her cane tapping the pavement before her. The Fraeulein
Marie leaped lightly down after her. Her hand had rested for a moment on
the young man's sleeve. A white rose trembled in the fingers. His face
glowed.

"Is your Highness ready?" he asked. He had moved to the old woman's
side.

She was standing, one hand on the wrapped parcel, the other on her stout
cane, peering suspiciously ahead.

"Is your Highness ready?" he repeated.

"Go on," she said briefly.

Four men were in the hall when they entered--the director of the Old
Pinakothek, the artist Adrian Kauffmann, the president of the
university, and a young man with a scared, helpful face, who proved to
be a laboratory assistant.

"They are your witnesses," murmured the young man in her ear.

She greeted them stiffly, her eyes on the precious parcel. Swiftly the
wrappings were undone, and the picture lifted to a huge easel across the
room. The light fell full upon it.

The witnesses moved forward in a body, silent. The old face watching
them relaxed. She smiled grimly.

"Is it a Duerer?" she demanded. She was standing behind them.

They started, looking at her doubtfully. The artist shrugged his
shoulders. He stepped back a little. The director shook his head with a
sigh. "Who can tell?" he said softly. "The marks----"

The baroness's eyes glowed dangerously. "I did not suppose you could
tell," she said curtly.

The young scientist interposed. "It is a case for science," he said
quickly. "You shall see--the Roentgen rays will tell. The
shutters--Berthold."

The assistant closed them, one by one, the heavy wooden shutters. A last
block of light rested on the shadowy picture. A last shutter swung into
place. They waited--in darkness. Some one breathed quickly, with soft,
panting breath. Slowly a light emerged through the dark. The great
picture gathered to itself shape, and glowed. Light pierced it til