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For a minute or two he hesitated, as if unwilling to speak; to speak openly was, perhaps, to unveil his projects. Nevertheless, after some reflection, he made up his mind. "Well, M. Fridriksson," he said in an easy, unconcerned kind of way, "I was desirous of ascertaining, if among other valuable works, you had any of the learned Arne Saknussemm."
Our worthy host delighted my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, by giving him a good map of Iceland, a most important and precious document for a mineralogist. Our last evening was spent in a long conversation with M. Fridriksson, whom I liked very much the more that I never expected to see him or anyone else again. After this agreeable way of spending an hour or so, I tried to sleep.
My uncle, who already belonged to nearly every literary and scientific institution in Europe, immediately yielded to the amiable wishes of good M. Fridriksson. "And now," he said, after many expressions of gratitude and good will, "if you will tell me what books you expected to find, perhaps I may be of some assistance to you." I watched my uncle keenly.
"What!" cried M. Fridriksson; "why, we have eight thousand volumes of most rare and valuable works some in the Scandinavian language, besides all the new publications from Copenhagen." "Eight thousand volumes, my dear sir why, where are they?" cried my uncle. "Scattered over the country, Professor Hardwigg. We are very studious, my dear sir, though we do live in Iceland.
Hans was engaged in putting the finishing stroke to our baggage, which he did in a silent, quiet way that won my admiration, and yet he did it admirably well. My uncle wasted a great deal of breath in giving him directions, but worthy Hans took not the slightest notice of his words. At six o'clock all our preparations were completed, and M. Fridriksson shook hands heartily with us.
"Yes, yes, all is clear, I see the link in the chain; everything is explained, and I now understand why Arne Saknussemm, put out of court, forced to hide his magnificent discoveries, was compelled to conceal beneath the veil of an incomprehensible cryptograph, the secret " "What secret?" "A secret which," stammered my uncle. "Have you discovered some wonderful manuscript?" cried M. Fridriksson.
"I very much regret," continued M. Fridriksson, "that my occupation will entirely preclude the possibility of my accompanying you. It would have been both pleasurable and profitable if I could have spared the time." "No, no, a thousand times no," cried my uncle. "I do not wish to disturb the serenity of any man. I thank you, however, with all my heart.
As soon as we were quite ready, M. Fridriksson advanced, and by way of farewell, called after me in the words of Virgil words which appeared to have been made for us, travelers starting for an uncertain destination: "Et quacunque viam dederit fortuna sequamur." The weather was overcast but settled, when we commenced our adventurous and perilous journey.
He is like a farmer who has neither to plow, to sow, nor to harrow, only to collect his harvest. This grave, sententious, silent person, as phlegmatic as an Englishman on the French stage, was named Hans Bjelke. He had called upon us in consequence of the recommendation of M. Fridriksson. He was, in fact, our future guide.
M. Fridriksson was not present, and I was afterwards sorry to hear that he and the governor did not agree on some matters connected with the administration of the island. Unfortunately, the consequence was, that I did not understand a word that was said at dinner a kind of semiofficial reception. One thing I can say, my uncle never left off speaking. The next day our labor came to an end.
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