The Schoolmaster: Carpentras 



is the pneumatic trough. It has to be emptied 

 before it is carried downstairs and to be filled again 

 afterwards. A day-scholar, a zealous acolyte, hur- 

 ries over his dinner and comes to lend me a hand 

 an hour or two before the class begins. We ef- 

 fect the move between us. 



What I am after is oxygen, the gas which I 

 once saw fail so lamentably. I thought it all out 

 at my leisure, with the help of a book. I will do 

 this, I will do that, I will go to work in this or 

 the other fashion. Above all, we will run no risks, 

 perhaps of blinding ourselves; for it is once more 

 a question of heating manganese dioxide with sul- 

 phuric acid. I am filled with misgivings at the 

 recollection of my old school-fellow yelling like 

 mad. Who cares? Let us try for all that: for- 

 tune favours the brave! Besides, we will make 

 one prudent condition from which I shall never 

 depart : no one but myself shall come near the table. 

 If an accident happen, I shall be the only one to 

 suffer; and, in my opinion, it is worth a burn or 

 two to make acquaintance with oxygen. 



Two o'clock strikes, and my pupils enter the 

 class-room. I purposely exaggerate the likelihood 

 of danger. They are all to stay on their benches 

 and not stir. This is agreed. I have plenty of 

 elbow-room. There is no one by me, except my 

 acolyte, standing by my side, ready to help me 

 when the time comes. The others look on in pro- 

 found silence, reverent towards the unknown. 



Soon the bubbles come " gloo-glooing " through 

 the water in the bell-jar. Can it be my gas? My 

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