to have been more intelligible than I was. Our hosts did not move a muscle of their faces. It was evident that they understood neither the language of Arago nor Faraday. I was very much puzzled what to do next, when Conseil said:
“If Monsieur will permit me, I will speak to them in German.”
“What! do you know German!” I cried.
“Like a Dutchman,” replied he; “if Monsieur has no objection.”
“I am much pleased. Go on my lad.”
And Conseil recounted, for the third time, the various adventures we had met with. But notwithstanding the excellent accent and the elegantly-turned phrases of the speaker, German was not a success. At length, pushed to the very last position, I recalled all I could of my former studies, and essayed to tell the tale in Latin. Cicero would have stopped his ears, and declared it was “dog Latin,” but, nevertheless, I went on. But with the same result!
This last attempt having miscarried, the two strangers exchanged some words in their incomprehensible language, and retired, without bestowing upon us even one of those signs which are universally understood. The door was again shut upon us.
“This is infamous,” exclaimed Ned Land, who burst out for the twentieth time. “Why, we have spoken French, English, German, and Latin to those rascals, and they have not had the civility to reply.”
“Calm yourself, Ned,” said I to the angry harpooner; “anger will do no good!”
