began to belch forth streams of smoke by night, as well as by day, hardly
four weeks after the death of Bianca, it was commonly supposed that the
place was unoccupied. Commonly supposed: for once in a while the knocker
was heard when Herr Winckler called, happy childish laughter floated out
from the open window, or Frau Schimmel was seen with her basket on her
arm going to market.

But no one ever met the doctor, neither at mass nor in the street, and
yet he did not always remain at home.

In summer at sunrise he went to the churchyard, and from there into the
woods; in winter, when the first stars appeared, he wrapped himself in
his black cloak and went to Bianca's grave, and thence to one of the
neighbouring villages, but he never entered anywhere, and only the sexton
who admitted him to the graveyard, and the gate watchman, who opened the
burgher's wicket to him, ever exchanged greetings with him.

At home he wandered around no longer, idle and fasting, but ate his meals
regularly, and threw himself into his work with such passionate energy,
that even the industrious Schimmel found it too much, and Frau Schimmel
grew anxious. The latter, too, knew what the doctor hoped to accomplish
by his hard work, for she had spied upon him, but she must not be blamed
as it had been with the most praiseworthy intention.

Four weeks after Bianca's death, and after he had shed many hot and
heart-felt tears, Melchior turned for the first time to his work again.

It happened late in the evening, and before he went into the laboratory
he uttered such strange words over the sleeping child that Frau Schimmel,
who was watching beside it, was frightened, especially as Schimmel had