My God! only grant that it may descend
on the end of my nose, and there, by squinting a little, I might
perhaps see it, and determine to what order, genus, species, or
variety it belongs."
So thought Cousin Benedict. But it was a long distance from his skull,
which was rather pointed, to the end of his nose, which was very long.
How many other roads the capricious insect might take, beside his
ears, beside his forehead--roads that would take it to a distance from
the savant's eyes--without counting that at any moment it might retake
its flight, leave the hut, and lose itself in those solar rays where,
doubtless, its life was passed, and in the midst of the buzzing of its
congeners that would attract it outside!
Cousin Benedict said all that to himself. Never, in all his life as
an entomologist, had he passed more touching minutes. An African
hexapode, of a new species, or, at least, of a new variety, or even of
a new sub-variety, was there on his head, and he could not recognize
it except it deigned to walk at least an inch from his eyes.
However, Cousin Benedict's prayer must be heard. The insect, after
having traveled over the half-bald head, as on the summit of some wild
bush, began to descend Cousin Benedict's forehead, and the latter
might at last conceive the hope that it would venture to the top of
his nose.
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