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Father Fromm hurriedly sent Henrik for a cab. Not a soul asked us where we were going. Everyone wondered, where, and why? What purpose? But, only I knew what would be the end of to-day's journey. I did not distress myself about it. I waited merely until my turn should come. I knew nothing could happen without me. The cab was there, and the Fromms led mother down the steps.
We led mother up into the room, where we had had our first reception. Mother Fromm and grandmother Fromm were not knitting stockings on this occasion; it seemed they were prepared for this appearance.
Fromm, the baker, to whose house I was to be taken, had informed us that we need not go to an hotel as he had room for all of us, and would gladly welcome us, especially as the expense of the journey was borne by us. We found his residence by following the written address.
Now and then in the night, when we didn't want it, they would remember and start a little movement Fromm the Gotterdammerung, but by morning they seemed discouraged again and during the day they were of fitful and unresponsive temperature. At last I went once more to the janitor, though with some hesitation, I confess. I don't know why.
Father Fromm opened his arms to receive the grandmother: Henrik leaped on to Desiderius' neck, while old Márton slouched up to Lorand, and, nudging him with his elbows, said with a humorous smile, "Well, no harm came of it, you see." "No, old fellow.
My grandmother spoke of him in pitiful tones, whereas Father Fromm assumed a look of inexorable severity, when he gave information on this subject; and as he spoke I gathered frequently the words "prosodia," "pensum" "labor" "vocabularium" and many other terms common to dog-Latin: among which words like "secunda" "tertia" "carcer" served as a sufficiently trustworthy compass to direct me to the following conclusion: My friend Henrik might not put in an appearance to-day at supper, because he did not know his lessons, and was to remain imprisoned in the house until he could improve his standing by learning to repeat, in the language of a people long since dead, the names of a host of eatables.
Father Fromm, deeply moved, exclaimed: "How happy I am, my God!" and then as if he considered his happiness too great, he turned to Henrik, "if only you were otherwise! but look, my dear boy: nothing has come of him! fuit negligens. If he too had learned, he would already be an 'archivarius! That is what I wanted to make of him. What a fine title! An 'archivarius! But what has become of him?
Thus I begin my notes, with an extract from the fourth letter in the series. Mem. I preserve Matthew's own orthography, which is the most eccentric it was ever my lot to contemplate. "December 14, '42. Indeed, my dear Ruth, I am ventursom wear you are concurn'd, and w'd tell you that I w'd taik panes to kepe fromm another.
For you must know the coffee was brought immediately, with very fine little cakes, prepared especially for us under the personal supervision of Father Fromm. Even that little snub-nosed demon said "Issdoch," seized a cake, dipped it in my coffee, and forcibly crammed it into my mouth, when I did not wish to understand her words. But I was not at all hungry.
"Do you remember how one evening you threw me on to the bed? How angry I was with you then!" "Do you remember how the first evening you put away the cake for Henrik?" said grandmamma. "How you blushed then!" "Do you remember," interrupted Father Fromm, "the first time you addressed me in German? How I laughed at you then!"
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