He took the elixir which he had made the day before into the library, and there he wrote and wrote.
At noon he allowed a morsel of food to be brought to him, and ate it seated at his desk.

When he had finished he continued his work with his pen, sealing-wax and seal, until the notary, Herr Winckler, called towards evening.
For the first time in the course of their long friendship he fell on the notary's neck, and told him with wet eyes, and broken voice that he had reached the happiest hour of his life, for the great work to which he had already dedicated himself while yet in Padua and Bologna, was completed, and that only the preceding evening he had achieved the most marvellous discovery of all times.
One of whose effects would be that a new epoch would dawn for the profession to which Herr Winckler belonged--that of the law.
Here his friend interrupted him to inquire what this discovery might be, but Melchior had the force to keep his secret, and only handed over to him the phial of the elixir, which he had previously packed carefully in a jewel casket of Bianca's, of Italian workmanship, and then wrapped in parchment, and tied, and fastened, with many seals.
He also entrusted his school companion with the letters which he had written, saying that his days were numbered, and giving him many instructions.

Finally he made the notary swear to be a faithful guardian and second father to Zeno if he should be taken away.
At midnight the friends parted, deeply moved, and Herr Winckler told his wife that he had never seen any man, let alone the solemn Melchior, so bubbling over and beaming with happiness, and if one could judge by the radiance of his glance, and the fire of his youthful enthusiasm, his friend had many more good years to live.
But what had pleased him in the appearance of the doctor was, alas! only the expiring flicker of the burnt-out candle.
The intense excitement of the last few days had exhausted the sick man, and before dawn Frau Schimmel was roused by his bell.

When she entered his room she found him sitting up in bed with burning cheeks and coughing violently.

He called for something to drink, saying that he was dying of thirst.
When he was refreshed by a glass of wine mixed with water, which in Italy had grown to be his favourite drink, he said to the old housekeeper that he would not need to use his son's blood, as his own was equally efficacious.