It was the best place this haxapode could choose. At that distance,
Cousin Benedict's two eyes, by making their visual rays converge,
could, like two lens, dart their double look on the insect.
"Almighty God!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, who could not repress a
cry, "the tuberculous _manticore_."
Now, he must not cry it out, he must only think it. But was it not too
much to ask from the most enthusiastic of entomologists?
To have on the end of his nose a tuberculous _manticore_, with large
elytrums--an insect of the cicendeletes tribe--a very rare specimen
in collections--one that seems peculiar to those southern parts of
Africa, and yet not utter a cry of admiration; that is beyond human
strength.
Unfortunately the _manticore_ heard this cry, which was almost
immediately followed by a sneeze, that shook the appendage on which it
rested. Cousin Benedict wished to take possession of it, extended his
hand, shut it violently, and only succeeded in seizing the end of his
own nose.
"Malediction!" exclaimed he. But then he showed a remarkable coolness.
He knew that the tuberculous _manticore_ only flutters about, so to
say, that it walks rather than flies. He then knelt, and succeeded in
perceiving, at less than ten inches from his eyes, the black point
that was gliding rapidly in a ray of light.
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