ree Kings," but in
no otherwise was it distinguished from its neighbours in the street save
through the sign of the Court apothecary on the ground floor; this hung
over the arched doorway, and gay with bright colour and gilding
represented the three patron Saints of the craft: Caspar, Melchior, and
Balthasar.

This house in the Katherinenstrasse continued to be called "The Three
Kings," although, soon after the death of old Caspar Ueberhell, the sign
was removed, and the shop closed. And many things happened to it and the
house which ran counter to the usual course of events and the wishes of
the worthy burghers.

Gossip there had been in plenty even during the lifetime of the old Court
apothecary whose only son Melchior had left his father's house and
Leipsic not merely to spend a few years in Prague, or Paris or Italy like
any other son of well-to-do parents who wished to perfect himself in his
studies, but, as it would seem, for good and all.

Both as school-boy and student Melchior had been one of the most gifted
and most brilliant, and many a father, whose son took a wicked delight in
wanton and graceless escapades, had with secret envy congratulated old
Ueberhell on having such an exceptionally talented, industrious and
obedient treasure of a son and heir. But later not one of these men would
have exchanged his heedless scrapegrace of a boy for the much bepraised
paragon of the Court apothecary, since, after all, a bad son is better
than none at all.

Melchior, in fact, came not home, and that this weighed on the mind of
the old man and hastened his death was beyond doubt; for although the
stately Court apothecary's rotund countenance remained as round and
beaming as the sun for three years after the departure of his boy, it
began gradually to lose its plumpness and radiance until at length it was
as faded and yellow as the pale half moon, and the cheeks that had once
been so full hung down on his ruff like little empty sacks. He also
withdrew more and more from the weighing house and the Raths-keller where
he had once so loved to pass his evenings in the company of other worthy
burghers, and he was heard to speak of himself now and then as a "lonely
man." Finally he stayed at home altogether, perhaps because his face and
the whites of his eyes had turned as yellow as the saffron in his shop.
There he left Schimmel, the dispenser, and the apprentice entirely in
charge, so that if any one wished to avoid the Co