INTERESTING CONVERSATIONS WITH ICELANDIC SAVANTS Dinner was ready.

Professor Liedenbrock devoured his portion voraciously, for his compulsory fast on board had converted his stomach into a vast unfathomable gulf.

There was nothing remarkable in the meal itself; but the hospitality of our host, more Danish than Icelandic, reminded me of the heroes of old.

It was evident that we were more at home than he was himself.
The conversation was carried on in the vernacular tongue, which my uncle mixed with German and M.Fridrikssen with Latin for my benefit.
It turned upon scientific questions as befits philosophers; but Professor Liedenbrock was excessively reserved, and at every sentence spoke to me with his eyes, enjoining the most absolute silence upon our plans.
In the first place M.Fridrikssen wanted to know what success my uncle had had at the library.
"Your library! why there is nothing but a few tattered books upon almost deserted shelves." "Indeed!" replied M.Fridrikssen, "why we possess eight thousand volumes, many of them valuable and scarce, works in the old Scandinavian language, and we have all the novelties that Copenhagen sends us every year." "Where do you keep your eight thousand volumes?
For my part--" "Oh, M.Liedenbrock, they are all over the country.

In this icy region we are fond of study.