"You do not think that inanimate matter is really lifeless?" I asked.
"Unless it is so hot that it melts," laughed the professor. "Even then it may not be true,—indeed, it may be quite false. We call the moon dead, because we have reason to believe that she has cooled to the centre. We call Jupiter and Saturn live planets, though we believe them still too hot to support life."
"All that does not explain death," objected Madame Patoff.
"If I could explain death, I could explain life," answered Cutter. "And if I could explain life, I should have made a great step towards producing it artificially."
"If one could only produce artificial death!" exclaimed Madame Patoff.
"It would be very amusing," answered Cutter, with a smile, folding his huge white hands upon his knee. "We could try it on ourselves, and then we should know what to expect. I have often thought about it, I assure you. I once had the curiosity to put myself into a trance by the Munich method of shining disks,—they use it in the hospitals instead of ether, you know,—and I remained in the state half an hour."
"And then, what happened when you woke up?"
"I had a bad headache and my eyes hurt me," replied the professor dryly. "I dare say that if a dead man came to life he would feel much the same thing."
"I dare say," assented Madame Patoff; but there was a vague look in her eyes, which showed that her thoughts were somewhere else. We were close upon the Asian shore, and I put the helm down to go about. The ladies changed their places, and there was a little confusion, in which Cutter found himself close to me.
"Keep an eye on her," he said quickly, in a low voice. "She is very queer."