remarked:

"No taste whatever! Come, we will give it a little fluoric acid to
drink."

Subjected to the influence of this ready solvent of animal tissue, the
skin underwent no change whatsoever.

"It is not shagreen at all!" the chemist cried. "We will treat this
unknown mystery as a mineral, and try its mettle by dropping it in a
crucible where I have at this moment some red potash."

Japhet went out, and returned almost immediately.

"Allow me to cut away a bit of this strange substance, sir," he said to
Raphael; "it is so extraordinary----"

"A bit!" exclaimed Raphael; "not so much as a hair's-breadth. You may
try, though," he added, half banteringly, half sadly.

The chemist broke a razor in his desire to cut the skin; he tried to
break it by a powerful electric shock; next he submitted it to the
influence of a galvanic battery; but all the thunderbolts his science
wotted of fell harmless on the dreadful talisman.

It was seven o'clock in the evening. Planchette, Japhet, and Raphael,
unaware of the flight of time, were awaiting the outcome of a final
experiment. The Magic Skin emerged triumphant from a formidable
encounter in which it had been engaged with a considerable quantity of
chloride of nitrogen.

"It is all over with me," Raphael wailed. "It is the finger of God! I
shall die!----" and he left the two amazed scientific men.

"We must be very careful not to talk about this affair at the Academie;
our colleagues there would laugh at us," Planchette remarked to the
chemist, after a long pause, in which they looked at each other without
daring to communicate their thoughts. The learned pair looked like
two Christians who had issued from their tombs to find no God in the
heavens. Science had been powerless; acids, so much clear water; red
potash had been discredited; the galvanic battery and electric shock had
been a couple of playthings.

"A hydraulic press broken like a biscuit!" commented Planchette.

"I believe in the devil," said the Baron Japhet, after a moment's
silence.

"And I in God," replied Planchette.

Each spoke in character. The universe for a mechanician is a machine
that requires an operator; for chemistry--that fiendish employment of
decomposing all things--the world is a gas endowed with the power of
movement.

"We cannot deny the fact," the chemist replied.

"Pshaw! those gentlemen the doctrinaires have invented a nebulous
aphorism for our consolation--Stupid as a fact."