"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 Dürer 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 Dürer! 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.