"I have made quite a study of biology, and all that sort of thing," said he; "and, although a good deal of a skeptic, and inclined to follow Huxley, I can't bring myself to conceive of life without organism. Such theorizing is, to my mind, on a par with the illogical search for the philosopher's stone and a perpetual motor." The old man's eyes sparkled as he turned full upon Ronald. "You dismiss the subject very airily, my young friend," he cried; "but let me tell you that I--I, whom you see here--have grappled with such problems through a weary century, and have conquered one of them." "And that one is--" "The one that conquered Plattner!" "Do I understand you to claim that you have discovered the life-principle?" "Yes." "Will you permit an utter stranger to inquire what is its nature?" "Certainly. It is twofold. The ultimate principle of life is carbon; the cause of its combination with water, or rather with the two gaseous elements of water, and the development of organized existence therefrom, is electricity." Ronald Wyde shrugged his broad shoulders a little, and absently replied, "All I can say, mein Herr, is, that you've got the bulge on me." "I beg your pardon--" "Excuse me; I unconsciously translated an Americanism. I mean that I don't quite understand you." "Which means that you do not believe me. It is but natural at your age, when one doubts as if by instinct. Would you be convinced?" "Nothing would please me better." With the same painful effort as before, the old man straightened himself and made a piercing clairvoyant examination into and through Ronald Wyde's eyes, as if reading the brain beyond them. "I think I can trust you," he mumbled at last. "Come with me."