The Enemy to Be Starved Into Submission
“He is gone!” cried Martha, running out of her kitchen at the noise of the violent slamming of doors.
“Yes,” I replied, “completely gone.”
“Well; and how about his dinner?” said the old servant.
“He won’t have any.”
“And his supper?”
“He won’t have any.”
“What?” cried Martha, with clasped hands.
“No, my dear Martha, he will eat no more. No one in the house is to eat anything at all. Uncle Liedenbrock is going to make us all fast until he has succeeded in deciphering an undecipherable scrawl.”
“Oh, my dear! Must we then all die of hunger?”
I hardly dared to confess that, with so absolute a ruler as my uncle, this fate was inevitable.
The old servant, visibly moved, returned to the kitchen, moaning piteously.
When I was alone, I thought I would go and tell Gräuben all about it. But how should I be able to escape from the house? The Professor might return at any moment. And suppose he called me? And suppose he