The Life of Jean Henri Fabre 



has nevertheless, like ourselves, his own two cells, 

 in addition to a balcony, or leads, where the chemi- 

 cal preparations give forth their suffocating gases 

 in the open air. For this reason, he finds it more 

 convenient to hold his class here during the greater 

 part of the year. The boys come to these rooms in 

 winter, in front of a grate stuffed full of coke, like 

 mine, and there find a blackboard, a pneumatic 

 trough, a mantelpiece covered with glass receivers, 

 panoplies of bent tubes on the walls and, lastly, a 

 certain cupboard in which I remember seeing a row 

 of books, the oracles consulted by the master in the 

 course of his lessons. 



" Among those books," said I to myself, " there 

 is sure to be one on algebra. To ask the owner 

 for the loan of it does not appeal to me. My 

 amiable colleague would receive me superciliously 

 and laugh at my ambitious aims. I am sure he 

 would refuse my request." 



I decide to help myself to the book which I 

 should never get by asking. This is the half-holi- 

 day. The science-master will not put in an appear- 

 ance to-day; and the key of my room is practically 

 the same as his. I go, with eyes and ears on the 

 alert. My key does not quite fit; it sticks a little, 

 then goes in; and an extra effort makes it turn in 

 the lock. The door opens. I inspect the cupboard 

 and find that it does contain an algebra book, one 

 of the big, fat books which men used to write in 

 those days, a book nearly half a foot thick. My 

 legs give way beneath me. You poor specimen of 

 a housebreaker, suppose you were caught at it! 

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