“Horrible!” exclaimed Ellen, with a shudder. “Do you actually mean he experimented on a living woman?”
“Yes; on a strapping wench, the daughter of his housekeeper; and a very fine thing she made of it. We subscribed together, and presented her with a purse of a thousand francs.”
“I think such things are wicked,” cried Ellen, with some warmth. “Mere mortals have no right to play, in that way, with the mystery of life and death.”
“My dear Nell,” cried Haldane, laughing, “it is in the interests of science!”
“But I am sure it is not right. Life is given and taken by God alone.”
“Your argument, if accepted, would make all mankind accept the religion of the Peculiar People, who will cure no diseases by human intervention. As to this business of suspended animation, it is merely a part of our discoveries in anodynes. Dupré’s experiment, I know, is perfectly safe.”
“But that is not the question.”
“How so, my dear?”
“What I mean is, that death is too solemn and awful a thing to imitate as you describe. Such experiments are simply blasphemous, in my opinion.”
“Come, come,” cried the philosopher. “There is no blasphemy where there is no irreverence. According to your religious people, your priests of the churches, there was blasphemy in circumnavigating the globe; in discovering the circulation of the blood; in ascertaining the age of the earth; and, still later, in using chloroform to lessen the pangs of parturition.”