In these painful meditations he was disturbed by a modest knocking at his door, and the person who entered was no other than his lodger. The ancient Mr. Swammer, at other times a shrivelled, misanthropic, grumbling man, seemed suddenly to have become twenty years younger. His forehead was smooth, his eye animated, his mouth friendly: instead of the odious black periwig he wore his natural silver hair; and in the place of the dark gray upper-coat, he had on a sable, such as Aline had before described him. With a cheerful and even friendly mien, by no means usual with him, he came up to Peregrine, protesting, that he did not wish to disturb his dear host in any occupation, but his duty as a lodger required that he should the first thing in the morning inform his landlord he had been under the necessity of giving refuge to a helpless damsel, who sought to escape from the tyranny of a cruel uncle, and would, therefore, pass some time in the house. For this he needed the permission of his kind host, which he now requested. Involuntarily Peregrine inquired who the lady was, without reflecting that this in fact was the best question he could ask to get a clue to the strange mystery. "It is just and proper," replied Swammer, "that the landlord should know whom he is lodging in his house. Learn then, my respected Mr. Tyss, that the damsel, who has taken refuge with me, is no other than the fair Hollandress, Dörtje Elverdink, niece of the celebrated Leuwenhock, who, as you know, gives here the wonderful microscopic exhibitions. Leuwenhock was once my friend, but I must acknowledge that he is a hard man, and uses my god-daughter cruelly. A violent affair, which took place yesterday, compelled the maiden to flight, and it seems natural enough that she should seek help and refuge with me." "Dörtje Elverdink!" said Peregrine, half dreaming;--"Leuwenhock!--perhaps a descendant of the naturalist, Antony Leuwenhock, who made the celebrated microscopes." "That our Leuwenhock," replied Swammer, smiling, "is a descendant of that celebrated man, I cannot exactly say, seeing that he is the celebrated man himself; and it is a mere fable that he was buried about two hundred years ago at Delft. Believe it, my dear Mr. Tyss, or else you might doubt that I am the renowned Swammerdamm, although, for the sake of shortness and that I may not have to answer the questions of every curious blockhead, I call myself Swammer. Every one maintains that I died in the year 1680, but you see, Mr. Tyss, that I stand before you alive and hearty; and that _I_ am really _I_, I can prove even to the dullest, from my Biblia Naturæ. You believe me, my worthy Mr. Tyss?"