ricasse, his cousin, under excellent conditions--for the happy
mortal who should succeed him.

CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH DOCTOR OX'S THEORY IS EXPLAINED.

What, then, had this mysterious Doctor Ox done? Tried a fantastic
experiment,--nothing more.

After having laid down his gas-pipes, he had saturated, first the
public buildings, then the private dwellings, finally the streets
of Quiquendone, with pure oxygen, without letting in the least
atom of hydrogen.

This gas, tasteless and odorless, spread in generous quantity
through the atmosphere, causes, when it is breathed, serious
agitation to the human organism. One who lives in an air
saturated with oxygen grows excited, frantic, burns!

You scarcely return to the ordinary atmosphere before you return
to your usual state. For instance, the counsellor and the
burgomaster at the top of the belfry were themselves again, as
the oxygen is kept, by its weight, in the lower strata of the
air.

But one who lives under such conditions, breathing this gas which
transforms the body physiologically as well as the soul, dies
speedily, like a madman.

It was fortunate, then, for the Quiquendonians, that a
providential explosion put an end to this dangerous experiment,
and abolished Doctor Ox's gas-works.

To conclude: Are virtue, courage, talent, wit, imagination,--are
all these qualities or faculties only a question of oxygen?

Such is Doctor Ox's theory; but we are not bound to accept it,
and for ourselves we utterly reject it, in spite of the curious
experiment of which the worthy old town of Quiquendone was the
theatre.

MASTER ZACHARIUS

CHAPTER I.

A WINTER NIGHT.

The city of Geneva lies at the west end of the lake of the same
name. The Rhone, which passes through the town at the outlet of
the lake, divides it into two sections, and is itself divided in
the centre of the city by an island placed in mid-stream. A
topographical feature like this is often found in the great
depots of commerce and industry. No doubt the first inhabitants
were influenced by the easy means of transport which the swift
currents of the rivers offered them--those "roads which walk
along of their own accord," as Pascal puts it. In the case of the
Rhone, it would be the road that ran along.

Before new and regular buildings were constructed on this island,
which was enclosed like a Dutch galley in the middle of the
river, the curious mass of houses, piled one on