At a quarter to ten the next morning a closed carriage drew up before
the heavy gate. A dapper figure pushed open the door and leaped out. It
entered the big gateway, crossed a green garden and was ushered into the
presence of the Baroness von Herkomer.
She stood beneath the picture, her eyebrows bent, her lips drawn, and
her hands resting on the stout cane.
"Will you come with me?" he asked deferentially.
"Where to?"
He hesitated. "You will see. I cannot tell you--now. But I need
you--with the picture." He motioned toward it.
She eyed him grimly for a second. Then she touched a bell.
The wooden butler appeared. "Send Wilhelm," she commanded.
Half an hour later the Herr Doctor Holtzenschuer was handing a bundled
figure into the closed carriage that stood before the gate. A huge,
oblong package rested against a lamp-post beside him, and near it stood
the Fraeulein Marie, rosy and shy. The young man turned to her with a
swift gesture.
"Come," he said.
He placed her beside her grandmother, and watched carefully while the
heavy parcel was lifted to the top of the carriage. With an injunction
to the driver for its safety, he turned to spring into the carriage.
The voice of the baroness, from muffled folds, arrested him.
"You will ride outside with the picture," it said. "I do not trust it to
a driver."
With a bow he slammed the carriage door and mounted the box. In another
minute the Herr Professor Doctor Holtzenschuer was driving rapidly
through the streets of Munich, on the outside of a common hack, a clumsy
parcel balanced awkwardly on his stiff shoulders.
From the windows below, on either side, a face looked out upon the
flying streets--a fairy with gentle eyes and a crone with toothless
smile.
"The Pinakothek!" grumbled the old woman. "Does he think any one at the
Pinakothek knows more of Albrecht Duerer than Henriette von Herkomer?"
She sniffed a little and drew her folds about her.
Past the Old Pinakothek rolled the flying carriage--on past the New
Pinakothek. An old face peered out upon the marble walls, wistful and
suspicious. A mass of buildings loomed in view.
"The university," she muttered under her breath. "Some upstart Herr
Professor--to tell _me_ of Albrecht Duerer! Fool--fool!" She croaked
softly in her throat.
"The Herr Doctor is a learned man, grandmamma--and a gentleman!" said a
soft voice beside her.
"A gentleman can be a fool!" returned the old woman tartly. "What
building is this?"
The carriage had stopped before a low, square doorway.
"It is the chemistry laboratory, 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 till it
shone with strokes of brushes. Deeply and slowly in the bluish patina,
at the edge of the flowing locks, on the shoulder of the Christ, a
glimmer of shadow traced itself, faintly and unmistakably.
Confused murmurs ran through the darkness--the voice of the director--a
woman's breath.
"Ready, Berthold." It was the voice of the Herr Doctor.
There was a little hiss, a blinding flash of light, the click of a
camera, and blackness again.
A shutter flew open.
In the square of light an old woman groped toward the picture. Her
knotted hands were lifted to it.
Close at hand, a camera tucked under his arm, the laboratory assistant
stood--on his round, practical face the happy look of successful
experiment.
A little distance away the Herr Professor Doctor moved quickly. The one
with the rose looked up.
High above them all--on the great easel, struck by a ray of light from
the shutter--the Duerer Face of Sorrow--out of its four hundred
years--looked forth and waited in the modern world.