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All the
ingenious ideas of the Professor were realized; he had dictated it
rightly to me; by a mere accident I had discovered what he so much
desired.

My delight, my emotion may be imagined, my eyes were dazzled and I
trembled so that at first I could make nothing of it. One look, however,
would tell me all I wished to know.

"Let me read," I said to myself, after drawing a long breath.

I spread it before me on the table, I passed my finger over each letter,
I spelled it through; in my excitement I read it out.

What horror and stupefaction took possession of my soul. I was like a
man who had received a knock-down blow. Was it possible that I really
read the terrible secret, and it had really been accomplished! A man had
dared to do--what?

No living being should ever know.

"Never!" cried I, jumping up. "Never shall my uncle be made aware of the
dread secret. He would be quite capable of undertaking the terrible
journey. Nothing would check him, nothing stop him. Worse, he would
compel me to accompany him, and we should be lost forever. But no; such
folly and madness cannot be allowed."

I was almost beside myself with rage and fury.

"My worthy uncle is already nearly mad," I cried aloud. "This would
finish him. By some accident he may make the discovery; in which case,
we are both lost. Perish the fearful secret--let the flames forever bury
it in oblivion."

I snatched up book and parchment, and was about to cast them into the
fire, when the door opened and my uncle entered.

I had scarcely time to put down the wretched documents before my uncle
was by my side. He was profoundly absorbed. His thoughts were evidently
bent on the terrible parchment. Some new combination had probably struck
him while taking his walk.

He seated himself in his armchair, and with a pen began to make an
algebraical calculation. I watched him with anxious eyes. My flesh
crawled as it became probable that he would discover the secret.

His combinations I knew now were useless, I having discovered the one
only clue. For three mortal hours he continued without speaking a word,
without raising his head, scratching, rewriting, calculating over and
over again. I knew that in time he must hit upon the right phrase. The
letters of every alphabet have only a certain number of combinations.
But then years might elapse before he would arrive at the correct
solution.

Still time went on; night came, the sounds in the streets ceased--and
still my uncle went on, not even answering our worthy cook when she
called us to supper.

I did not dare to leave him, so waved her away, and at last fell asleep
on the sofa.

When I awoke my uncle was still at work. His red eyes, his pallid
countenance, his matted hair, his feverish hands, his hectically flushed
cheeks, showed how terrible had been his struggle with the impossible,
and what fearful fatigue he had undergone during that long sleepless

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