He spent a long time looking at the different collections of plants, the stuffed birds and the shells; but when that was finished, he did not know what to do with himself. What was there to do, all the rest of the afternoon? As his eyes wandered about the room, they fell on a cabinet standing partly open. He went up to it, and pushing back the door, saw that it contained some rare objects: some insects and Professor Piralian's collection of butterflies. This worthy man had a mania for collecting; he had hunted for stones, fossils, butterflies and antique coins, by turns; at present he was asking every one for postage-stamps, which he carefully pasted in a new album. His collection of butterflies included some superb specimens which he had caught himself during a stay in Mexico. On his return to Aintab he had presented the collection to the college, where it was highly appreciated. As the thermometer registered several degrees below zero, the furnace fire was burning at full blast, and the air in the museum, already impregnated with camphor and naphtha, was suffocating. Before long, Archag's head was burning; he threw open one of the windows near the door, and took a good breath of fresh air. Then he returned to the cabinet and took out a glass box containing the finest specimen of the Piralian collection. It was beginning to grow dark, so he took the box to the window, which he had left open. He stood looking at the marvelous insects with their iridescent wings of blue and green and gold, and was amusing himself by trying to decipher the Latin names, when he felt a smart blow on his arm. The force of the sudden jar made him let go of the box, and down it fell with a crash, on the stone pavement of the courtyard. For an instant Archag stood motionless with fright; then he rushed into the corridor, where he heard a sound of retreating footsteps. He went back to the museum, and looking from the window he could see the shapeless fragments of the box down below. A ray of hope flashed across his mind; could it be, perhaps, that the precious insects had not been injured? Running downstairs two steps at a time, the next moment he was in the courtyard. Alas! the butterflies were ruined; most of them were reduced to powder. In the face of this disaster Archag felt powerless, constrained by an agony of fear. He could not bring himself to think of the thing he ought to do, to go at once to Professor Piralian and tell him frankly what had happened. His only thought was that he should be expelled from the college. How dreadful, oh, how very dreadful! When he entered the schoolroom, he was so pale that Garabed was frightened: "Why, what is the matter with you? Are you ill?" "I have a bad headache." He took up a book, but the words danced before his eyes, without conveying the slightest meaning to his mind.