Melchior laughed at her but did not rebuff her.
Soon the travellers were seated about the neatly laid table in their own house and Frau Schimmel had her reward in seeing Melchior enjoy the home-made dishes.

And little Zeno--for that was the name of the Court apothecary's grandchild--drink the good milk and munch the butter cakes which she had baked to celebrate their arrival.

But the young wife hardly tasted anything.
Did not the food please her?
Perhaps she was accustomed in Italy to a different way of cooking?
"Other nations, other customs." But who could feel annoyed with that heavenly creature?
Frau Schimmel was of the opinion that she had never seen any one to equal her, and could not bear to take her eyes off her.

Yet the appearance of the wife of her old favorite filled her with forebodings, and suddenly, though she was by no means superstitious or given to presentiments, she seemed to see Frau Bianca--so the young Italian was called--lying on her bier, a light veil over her, and a wreath of lilies-of-the-valley on her raven hair.

A sad quiet face! Frau Schimmel's vision must have been caused by the young wife's excessive paleness.