But when he considered that if he once had a good artisan in his employ, the jewel and mirror business could go on, and himself have more time for his printing researches, he decided to engage Dritzhn. But no sooner was Dritzhn in favor with his new employer than he introduced his friends Hielman, whose brother was the first paper-maker in Strasbourg, and Riffe, who craved a like favor of being admitted to learn Gutenberg’s trade. The shop now presented a busy scene with three apprentices,--Dritzhn, careful, plodding, ingenious, and eager to learn; Riffe, mostly engaged on mirrors, complacently catching glimpses of his own round visage as his work waxed bright; and Hielman, polishing jewels and making himself generally useful. But what with the din of the wheel, saw, chisel, and polisher, the inventor had little time for thought. It was, “How shall I do this, Master Gutenberg?” “What next, master?” from morning till night; and he could not command time to pursue his engraved blocks, as he had hoped. Yet it was necessary, for the purpose of disguising from his associates for a longer time the real object of his secret enterprise, to devote himself with them to many curious and secondary industries. There was “the cutting and fashioning of precious stones; the polishing of Venetian glass to make mirrors; cutting the mirrors into facettes or diamonds; the encasing them in copper frames, which he enriched with figures of wood representing personages of fable and of the Bible.” These mirrors were sold at the fair of Aix-la-Chapelle, and helped the funds of the association, as well as Gutenberg in the secret expenses destined to accomplish and perfect his invention. To secure the needed seclusion, he fitted up a room, and spent his evenings on the hidden art in the presence of Anna, after the workmen had left the front shop. For the purpose of selling “St. Christophers,” he again visited Nôtre Dame; and on his return, Anna’s glance at his face assured her that he brought good news. “Ah,” said he, “but it is not because I have returned with much money, although I may have done as well.” And undoing a wrapper he produced the “Historia Sancti Johannis Evangelistæ,” or “History of St. John the Evangelist,” which he had obtained in exchange for cuts. “What think you of this?” said he. “See, it is written on vellum with illuminated initials,[2] and has sixty-three pages. And observe, it is copied with a pen: some patient monk has toiled over this many a weary day in his cell. But I have a plan which I think will be an improvement, which is to engrave it as I did the picture.”