of German
ballad poetry. After the skin had been in the fire for ten minutes, the
foreman pulled it out with a pair of pincers.

"Hand it over to me," said Raphael.

The foreman held it out by way of a joke. The Marquis readily handled
it; it was cool and flexible between his fingers. An exclamation of
alarm went up; the workmen fled in terror. Valentin was left alone with
Planchette in the empty workshop.

"There is certainly something infernal in the thing!" cried Raphael,
in desperation. "Is no human power able to give me one more day of
existence?"

"I made a mistake, sir," said the mathematician, with a penitent
expression; "we ought to have subjected that peculiar skin to the action
of a rolling machine. Where could my eyes have been when I suggested
compression!"

"It was I that asked for it," Raphael answered.

The mathematician heaved a sigh of relief, like a culprit acquitted by a
dozen jurors. Still, the strange problem afforded by the skin interested
him; he meditated a moment, and then remarked:

"This unknown material ought to be treated chemically by re-agents. Let
us call on Japhet--perhaps the chemist may have better luck than the
mechanic."

Valentin urged his horse into a rapid trot, hoping to find the chemist,
the celebrated Japhet, in his laboratory.

"Well, old friend," Planchette began, seeing Japhet in his armchair,
examining a precipitate; "how goes chemistry?"

"Gone to sleep. Nothing new at all. The Academie, however, has
recognized the existence of salicine, but salicine, asparagine,
vauqueline, and digitaline are not really discoveries----"

"Since you cannot invent substances," said Raphael, "you are obliged to
fall back on inventing names."

"Most emphatically true, young man."

"Here," said Planchette, addressing the chemist, "try to analyze this
composition; if you can extract any element whatever from it, I christen
it diaboline beforehand, for we have just smashed a hydraulic press in
trying to compress it."

"Let's see! let's have a look at it!" cried the delighted chemist; "it
may, perhaps, be a fresh element."

"It is simply a piece of the skin of an ass, sir," said Raphael.

"Sir!" said the illustrious chemist sternly.

"I am not joking," the Marquis answered, laying the piece of skin before
him.

Baron Japhet applied the nervous fibres of his tongue to the skin; he
had skill in thus detecting salts, acids, alkalis, and gases. After
several experiments, he