well within reach, language was a matter of secondary importance.

I took two cups of coffee, as usual--one for B., and one for myself-
-and, bringing them to the table, looked round for B. I could not
see him anywhere. What had become of him? I had not seen him, that
I could recollect, for hours. I did not know where I was, or what I
was doing. I had a hazy knowledge that B. and I had started off
together--whether yesterday or six months ago, I could not have said
to save my life--with the intention, if I was not mistaken, of going
somewhere and seeing something. We were now somewhere abroad--
somewhere in Norway was my idea; though why I had fixed on Norway is
a mystery to me to this day--and I had lost him!

How on earth were we ever to find each other again? A horrible
picture presented itself to my mind of our both wandering
distractedly up and down Europe, perhaps for years, vainly seeking
each other. The touching story of Evangeline recurred to me with
terrible vividness.

Something must be done, and that immediately. Somehow or another I
must find B. I roused myself, and summoned to my aid every word of
Scandinavian that I knew.

It was no good these people pretending that they did not understand
their own language, and putting me off that way. They had got to
understand it this time. This was no mere question of coffee and
rolls; this was a serious business. I would make that waiter
understand my Scandinavian, if I had to hammer it into his head with
his own coffee-pot!