A Moment of Intoxication

Thus a phenomenon, curious but explicable, was happening under these strange conditions.

So a curious but explainable phenomenon was occurring under these strange conditions.

Every object thrown from the projectile would follow the same course and never stop until it did. There was a subject for conversation which the whole evening could not exhaust.

Anything thrown from the projectile would follow the same path and would not stop until the projectile stopped. They could spend the whole evening talking about this and still have more to say.

Besides, the excitement of the three travelers increased as they drew near the end of their journey. They expected unforseen incidents, and new phenomena; and nothing would have astonished them in the frame of mind they then were in. Their overexcited imagination went faster than the projectile, whose speed was evidently diminishing, though insensibly to themselves. But the moon grew larger to their eyes, and they fancied if they stretched out their hands they could seize it.

Besides, the three travelers grew more excited as they neared the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents and new phenomena. In their present state of mind, nothing would have surprised them. Their overexcited imaginations raced ahead of the projectile. Its speed was clearly decreasing, though they could not feel it slowing down. But the moon looked bigger to them. They imagined that if they stretched out their hands, they could grasp it.

The next day, the 5th of November, at five in the morning, all three were on foot. That day was to be the last of their journey, if all calculations were true. That very night, at twelve o’clock, in eighteen hours, exactly at the full moon, they would reach its brilliant disc. The next midnight would see that journey ended, the most extraordinary of ancient or modern times. Thus from the first of the morning, through the scuttles silvered by its rays, they saluted the orb of night with a confident and joyous hurrah.

The next day, November 5, all three were up at five in the morning. If all their calculations were correct, this would be the last day of their journey. That night at midnight, eighteen hours later, they would reach the moon’s brilliant surface, exactly at the full moon. By midnight, the most extraordinary journey of ancient or modern times would be over. So, early that morning, they greeted the moon with a confident and joyous hurrah through the portholes silvered by its rays.

The moon was advancing majestically along the starry firmament. A few more degrees, and she would reach the exact point where her meeting with the projectile was to take place.

The moon moved majestically across the starry sky. In a few more degrees, it would reach the exact point where it was to meet the projectile.

According to his own observations, Barbicane reckoned that they would land on her northern hemisphere, where stretch immense plains, and where mountains are rare. A favorable circumstance if, as they thought, the lunar atmosphere was stored only in its depths.

Based on his own observations, Barbicane calculated that they would land in the moon's northern hemisphere. There, vast plains stretched out, and mountains were rare. This was fortunate if, as they believed, the lunar atmosphere was confined to the depths of the plains.

“Besides,” observed Michel Ardan, “a plain is easier to disembark upon than a mountain. A Selenite, deposited in Europe on the summit of Mont Blanc, or in Asia on the top of the Himalayas, would not be quite in the right place.”

“Besides,” said Michel Ardan, “a plain is easier to land on than a mountain. A Selenite dropped on the summit of Mont Blanc in Europe, or on top of the Himalayas in Asia, would not be in quite the right place.”

“And,” added Captain Nicholl, “on a flat ground, the projectile will remain motionless when it has once touched; whereas on a declivity it would roll like an avalanche, and not being squirrels we should not come out safe and sound. So it is all for the best.”

“And,” added Captain Nicholl, “on flat ground, the projectile will stay still once it lands. But on a slope, it would roll like an avalanche. Since we aren’t squirrels, we wouldn’t come out safe and sound. So it’s all for the best.”

Indeed, the success of the audacious attempt no longer appeared doubtful. But Barbicane was preoccupied with one thought; but not wishing to make his companions uneasy, he kept silence on this subject.

Indeed, the bold attempt no longer seemed likely to fail. But one thought troubled Barbicane. He said nothing about it, however, because he did not want to worry his companions.

The direction the projectile was taking toward the moon’s northern hemisphere, showed that her course had been slightly altered. The discharge, mathematically calculated, would carry the projectile to the very center of the lunar disc. If it did not land there, there must have been some deviation. What had caused it? Barbicane could neither imagine nor determine the importance of the deviation, for there were no points to go by.

The projectile was heading toward the moon’s northern hemisphere, showing that its course had changed slightly. The shot had been precisely calculated to carry the projectile to the very center of the lunar disc. If it did not land there, it must have strayed off course. What had caused the change? Barbicane could neither imagine the cause nor determine how much the projectile had strayed. There were no reference points to guide him.

He hoped, however, that it would have no other result than that of bringing them nearer the upper border of the moon, a region more suitable for landing.

However, he hoped it would only bring them closer to the moon’s upper edge, where landing would be easier.

Without imparting his uneasiness to his companions, Barbicane contented himself with constantly observing the moon, in order to see whether the course of the projectile would not be altered; for the situation would have been terrible if it failed in its aim, and being carried beyond the disc should be launched into interplanetary space. At that moment, the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, showed its convexity. If the sun’s rays had struck it obliquely, the shadow thrown would have brought out the high mountains, which would have been clearly detached. The eye might have gazed into the crater’s gaping abysses, and followed the capricious fissures which wound through the immense plains. But all relief was as yet leveled in intense brilliancy. They could scarcely distinguish those large spots which give the moon the appearance of a human face.

Without sharing his unease with his companions, Barbicane kept watching the moon for any change in the projectile’s course. The situation would be terrible if the projectile missed its target. It could pass beyond the moon’s disc and be launched into interplanetary space. Now the moon no longer looked flat like a disc. Its curved surface was visible. If the sun’s rays had struck it at an angle, the resulting shadows would have clearly revealed the high mountains. One could have looked into the gaping depths of the craters and followed the winding fissures across the immense plains. But for now, the intense brightness made all the surface features look flat. They could barely make out the large spots that give the moon the appearance of a human face.

“Face, indeed!” said Michel Ardan; “but I am sorry for the amiable sister of Apollo. A very pitted face!”

“A face, indeed!” said Michel Ardan. “But I feel sorry for Apollo’s lovely sister. What a pitted face!”

But the travelers, now so near the end, were incessantly observing this new world. They imagined themselves walking through its unknown countries, climbing its highest peaks, descending into its lowest depths. Here and there they fancied they saw vast seas, scarcely kept together under so rarefied an atmosphere, and water-courses emptying the mountain tributaries. Leaning over the abyss, they hoped to catch some sounds from that orb forever mute in the solitude of space. That last day left them.

But the travelers, now so close to the end, watched this new world constantly. They imagined walking through its unknown lands, climbing its highest peaks, and descending into its deepest depths. Here and there, they imagined they saw vast seas, barely held together beneath such a thin atmosphere. They also imagined waterways carrying streams down from the mountains. Leaning over the abyss, they hoped to hear some sound from that world, forever silent in the solitude of space. That last day passed.

They took down the most trifling details. A vague uneasiness took possession of them as they neared the end. This uneasiness would have been doubled had they felt how their speed had decreased. It would have seemed to them quite insufficient to carry them to the end. It was because the projectile then “weighed” almost nothing. Its weight was ever decreasing, and would be entirely annihilated on that line where the lunar and terrestrial attractions would neutralize each other.

They recorded even the smallest details. As they neared the end, they felt vaguely uneasy. They would have been twice as uneasy if they had felt how much their speed had decreased. It would have seemed far too low to carry them to the end. This was because the projectile then “weighed” almost nothing. Its weight was steadily decreasing. It would disappear entirely at the line where the Moon’s and Earth’s gravitational pulls canceled each other out.

But in spite of his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare the morning repast with his accustomed punctuality. They ate with a good appetite. Nothing was so excellent as the soup liquefied by the heat of the gas; nothing better than the preserved meat. Some glasses of good French wine crowned the repast, causing Michel Ardan to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by that ardent sun, ought to distill even more generous wines; that is, if they existed. In any case, the far-seeing Frenchman had taken care not to forget in his collection some precious cuttings of the Medoc and Cote d’Or, upon which he founded his hopes.

But despite his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare breakfast with his usual punctuality. They ate with good appetites. Nothing tasted better than the soup, warmed to liquid by the gas flame, or the preserved meat. Several glasses of good French wine crowned the meal. Michel Ardan remarked that vines on the moon, warmed by that fierce sun, should produce even richer wines. That is, if lunar vines existed. In any case, the far-sighted Frenchman had made sure to include some precious cuttings from Medoc and Cote d’Or in his collection. He placed his hopes in them.

Reiset and Regnaut’s apparatus worked with great regularity. Not an atom of carbonic acid resisted the potash; and as to the oxygen, Captain Nicholl said “it was of the first quality.” The little watery vapor enclosed in the projectile mixing with the air tempered the dryness; and many apartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many theaters, were certainly not in such a healthy condition.

Reiset and Regnaut’s apparatus worked very steadily. The potash absorbed every atom of carbon dioxide. As for the oxygen, Captain Nicholl said “it was of the first quality.” The small amount of water vapor inside the projectile mixed with the air and made it less dry. Many apartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many theaters, were certainly not as healthy.

But that it might act with regularity, the apparatus must be kept in perfect order; so each morning Michel visited the escape regulators, tried the taps, and regulated the heat of the gas by the pyrometer. Everything had gone well up to that time, and the travelers, imitating the worthy Joseph T. Maston, began to acquire a degree of embonpoint which would have rendered them unrecognizable if their imprisonment had been prolonged to some months. In a word, they behaved like chickens in a coop; they were getting fat.

But the apparatus had to be kept in perfect order to work regularly. So every morning, Michel checked the escape regulators, tested the taps, and adjusted the gas temperature using the pyrometer. Everything had gone well so far. Like the worthy Joseph T. Maston, the travelers had begun to put on weight. If their confinement had lasted a few months, they would have become unrecognizable. In short, they were behaving like chickens in a coop. They were getting fat.

In looking through the scuttle Barbicane saw the specter of the dog, and other divers objects which had been thrown from the projectile, obstinately following them. Diana howled lugubriously on seeing the remains of Satellite, which seemed as motionless as if they reposed on solid earth.

Looking through the hatch, Barbicane saw the ghostly form of the dog and several other objects thrown from the projectile. They were stubbornly following it. Diana howled mournfully when she saw Satellite's remains. They seemed as still as if they were resting on solid ground.

“Do you know, my friends,” said Michel Ardan, “that if one of us had succumbed to the shock consequent on departure, we should have had a great deal of trouble to bury him? What am I saying? to etherize him, as here ether takes the place of earth. You see the accusing body would have followed us into space like a remorse.”

“Do you know, my friends,” said Michel Ardan, “if one of us had died from the shock of departure, we would have had a lot of trouble burying him? What am I saying? We would have had to etherize him, since ether takes the place of earth here. You see, the accusing body would have followed us into space like a guilty conscience.”

“That would have been sad,” said Nicholl.

“That would have been sad,” said Nicholl.

“Ah!” continued Michel, “what I regret is not being able to take a walk outside. What voluptuousness to float amid this radiant ether, to bathe oneself in it, to wrap oneself in the sun’s pure rays. If Barbicane had only thought of furnishing us with a diving apparatus and an air-pump, I could have ventured out and assumed fanciful attitudes of feigned monsters on the top of the projectile.”

“Ah!” Michel continued, “what I regret is not being able to take a walk outside. What a pleasure it would be to float in this radiant ether, bathe in it, and wrap myself in the sun’s pure rays. If only Barbicane had thought to provide us with diving equipment and an air pump. I could have ventured outside and struck fantastic poses like imaginary monsters on top of the projectile.”

“Well, old Michel,” replied Barbicane, “you would not have made a feigned monster long, for in spite of your diver’s dress, swollen by the expansion of air within you, you would have burst like a shell, or rather like a balloon which has risen too high. So do not regret it, and do not forget this—as long as we float in space, all sentimental walks beyond the projectile are forbidden.”

“Well, old Michel,” replied Barbicane, “you wouldn’t have been able to pretend to be a monster for long. Despite your diving suit, you would have burst like a shell as the air inside you expanded. Or rather, you would have burst like a balloon that had risen too high. So don’t regret missing the chance, and don’t forget this: As long as we float in space, all sentimental walks outside the projectile are forbidden.”

Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced to a certain extent. He admitted that the thing was difficult but not impossible, a word which he never uttered.

Michel Ardan was persuaded to some extent. He admitted that the thing was difficult, but not impossible. He never used the word “impossible.”

The conversation passed from this subject to another, not failing him for an instant. It seemed to the three friends as though, under present conditions, ideas shot up in their brains as leaves shoot at the first warmth of spring. They felt bewildered. In the middle of the questions and answers which crossed each other, Nicholl put one question which did not find an immediate solution.

The conversation moved from one subject to another, never faltering for an instant. Under the circumstances, ideas seemed to spring up in the three friends' minds like leaves in the first warmth of spring. They felt bewildered. Amid the questions and answers flying back and forth, Nicholl asked a question that had no immediate answer.

“Ah, indeed!” said he; “it is all very well to go to the moon, but how to get back again?”

“Oh, really!” he said. “It’s all very well to go to the moon, but how do we get back?”

His two interlocutors looked surprised. One would have thought that this possibility now occurred to them for the first time.

The two people he was speaking to looked surprised. It seemed as if the possibility had never occurred to them before.

“What do you mean by that, Nicholl?” asked Barbicane gravely.

“What do you mean by that, Nicholl?” Barbicane asked seriously.

“To ask for means to leave a country,” added Michel, “When we have not yet arrived there, seems to me rather inopportune.”

“Asking how to leave a country,” added Michel, “when we haven't even arrived there yet seems rather premature to me.”

“I do not say that, wishing to draw back,” replied Nicholl; “but I repeat my question, and I ask, ‘How shall we return?’”

“I’m not saying that because I want to back out,” replied Nicholl. “But I repeat my question: ‘How will we return?’”

“I know nothing about it,” answered Barbicane.

“I don’t know anything about it,” Barbicane replied.

“And I,” said Michel, “if I had known how to return, I would never have started.”

“And as for me,” said Michel, “if I had known how to get back, I would never have set out.”

“There’s an answer!” cried Nicholl.

“There’s an answer!” shouted Nicholl.

“I quite approve of Michel’s words,” said Barbicane; “and add, that the question has no real interest. Later, when we think it is advisable to return, we will take counsel together. If the Columbiad is not there, the projectile will be.”

“I completely agree with Michel,” said Barbicane. “And I would add that the question is not really important. Later, when we think it is wise to return, we will discuss it together. If the Columbiad is not there, the projectile will be.”

“That is a step certainly. A ball without a gun!”

“That is certainly a step forward. A ball without a gun!”

“The gun,” replied Barbicane, “can be manufactured. The powder can be made. Neither metals, saltpeter, nor coal can fail in the depths of the moon, and we need only go 8,000 leagues in order to fall upon the terrestrial globe by virtue of the mere laws of weight.”

“The gun can be made,” replied Barbicane. “The gunpowder can be made too. There must be metals, saltpeter, and coal deep in the moon. And we need only travel 8,000 leagues to fall onto Earth through the simple force of gravity.”

“Enough,” said Michel with animation. “Let it be no longer a question of returning: we have already entertained it too long. As to communicating with our former earthly colleagues, that will not be difficult.”

“Enough,” Michel said excitedly. “Let’s stop talking about returning. We’ve already spent too long considering it. As for communicating with our former colleagues on Earth, that won’t be difficult.”

“And how?”

“And how?”

“By means of meteors launched by lunar volcanoes.”

“By using meteors launched by volcanoes on the Moon.”

“Well thought of, Michel,” said Barbicane in a convinced tone of voice. “Laplace has calculated that a force five times greater than that of our gun would suffice to send a meteor from the moon to the earth, and there is not one volcano which has not a greater power of propulsion than that.”

“Good thinking, Michel,” said Barbicane confidently. “Laplace calculated that a force five times greater than our gun’s would be enough to send a meteor from the moon to the earth. And every volcano has more propulsive power than that.”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Michel; “these meteors are handy postmen, and cost nothing. And how we shall be able to laugh at the post-office administration! But now I think of it—”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Michel. “These meteors make handy postmen, and they cost nothing. We’ll be able to laugh at the post office! But now that I think of it...”

“What do you think of?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“A capital idea. Why did we not fasten a thread to our projectile, and we could have exchanged telegrams with the earth?”

“A great idea. Why didn't we attach a thread to our projectile? We could have exchanged telegrams with Earth.”

“The deuce!” answered Nicholl. “Do you consider the weight of a thread 250,000 miles long nothing?”

“Damn!” Nicholl replied. “Do you think a thread 250,000 miles long weighs nothing?”

“As nothing. They could have trebled the Columbiad’s charge; they could have quadrupled or quintupled it!” exclaimed Michel, with whom the verb took a higher intonation each time.

“That’s nothing. They could have tripled the Columbiad’s charge. They could have quadrupled or quintupled it!” exclaimed Michel, raising his voice with each verb.

“There is but one little objection to make to your proposition,” replied Barbicane, “which is that, during the rotary motion of the globe, our thread would have wound itself round it like a chain on a capstan, and that it would inevitably have brought us to the ground.”

“There is only one small objection to your proposal,” replied Barbicane. “As the globe rotated, our thread would have wound around it like a chain on a winch. That would inevitably have pulled us to the ground.”

“By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!” said Michel, “I have nothing but impracticable ideas to-day; ideas worthy of J. T. Maston. But I have a notion that, if we do not return to earth, J. T. Maston will be able to come to us.”

“By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!” said Michel. “I have nothing but impractical ideas today, ideas worthy of J. T. Maston. But I have a feeling that if we don't return to Earth, J. T. Maston will be able to come to us.”

“Yes, he’ll come,” replied Barbicane; “he is a worthy and a courageous comrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad still buried in the soil of Florida? Is cotton and nitric acid wanted wherewith to manufacture the pyroxyle? Will not the moon pass the zenith of Florida? In eighteen years’ time will she not occupy exactly the same place as to-day?”

“Yes, he’ll come,” replied Barbicane. “He is a worthy and courageous companion. Besides, what could be easier? Isn’t the Columbiad still buried in the soil of Florida? Is there any shortage of cotton and nitric acid to make the pyroxyle? Won’t the moon pass directly over Florida? In eighteen years, won’t it be in exactly the same place as today?”

“Yes,” continued Michel, “yes, Maston will come, and with him our friends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, all the members of the Gun Club, and they will be well received. And by and by they will run trains of projectiles between the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J. T. Maston!”

“Yes,” Michel continued, “yes, Maston will come. Our friends Elphinstone and Blomsberry will come with him, along with all the members of the Gun Club. They will all be welcomed. And before long, they will run trains of projectiles between Earth and the Moon! Hurrah for J. T. Maston!”

It is probable that, if the Hon. J. T. Maston did not hear the hurrahs uttered in his honor, his ears at least tingled. What was he doing then? Doubtless, posted in the Rocky Mountains, at the station of Long’s Peak, he was trying to find the invisible projectile gravitating in space. If he was thinking of his dear companions, we must allow that they were not far behind him; and that, under the influence of a strange excitement, they were devoting to him their best thoughts.

If the Hon. J. T. Maston did not hear the cheers in his honor, his ears probably at least tingled. What was he doing then? He was surely stationed at Long’s Peak in the Rocky Mountains, trying to find the invisible projectile traveling through space. If he was thinking of his dear companions, they were thinking just as warmly of him. Under the influence of a strange excitement, they were giving him their fondest thoughts.

But whence this excitement, which was evidently growing upon the tenants of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be doubted. This strange irritation of the brain, must it be attributed to the peculiar circumstances under which they found themselves, to their proximity to the orb of night, from which only a few hours separated them, to some secret influence of the moon acting upon their nervous system? Their faces were as rosy as if they had been exposed to the roaring flames of an oven; their voices resounded in loud accents; their words escaped like a champagne cork driven out by carbonic acid; their gestures became annoying, they wanted so much room to perform them; and, strange to say, they none of them noticed this great tension of the mind.

But what was causing the growing excitement among the passengers in the projectile? There was no doubt that they were sober. Was this strange mental agitation caused by the unusual circumstances they were in? Was it because they were only hours away from the moon? Or was some secret influence of the moon acting on their nervous systems? Their faces were as rosy as if they had been exposed to the roaring flames of an oven. Their voices rang out loudly. Their words burst out like a champagne cork driven by carbon dioxide. Their gestures became annoying because they needed so much room to make them. And, strangely enough, none of them noticed this great mental tension.

“Now,” said Nicholl, in a short tone, “now that I do not know whether we shall ever return from the moon, I want to know what we are going to do there?”

“Now,” said Nicholl curtly, “I don't know if we'll ever return from the moon. I want to know what we're going to do there.”

“What we are going to do there?” replied Barbicane, stamping with his foot as if he was in a fencing saloon; “I do not know.”

“What are we going to do there?” Barbicane replied, stamping his foot as if he were in a fencing hall. “I don't know.”

“You do not know!” exclaimed Michel, with a bellow which provoked a sonorous echo in the projectile.

“You do not know!” Michel bellowed, his voice echoing loudly inside the projectile.

“No, I have not even thought about it,” retorted Barbicane, in the same loud tone.

“No, I haven’t even thought about it,” Barbicane shot back, just as loudly.

“Well, I know,” replied Michel.

“Well, I know,” Michel replied.

“Speak, then,” cried Nicholl, who could no longer contain the growling of his voice.

“Speak, then,” cried Nicholl, who could no longer keep the growl out of his voice.

“I shall speak if it suits me,” exclaimed Michel, seizing his companions’ arms with violence.

“I’ll speak if I want to,” Michel exclaimed, grabbing his companions’ arms violently.

“ It must suit you,” said Barbicane, with an eye on fire and a threatening hand. “It was you who drew us into this frightful journey, and we want to know what for.”

“ It must suit you,” said Barbicane, his eyes blazing and his hand raised in a threatening gesture. “You’re the one who drew us into this terrifying journey, and we want to know why.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “now that I do not know where I am going, I want to know why I am going.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “now that I don't know where I'm going, I want to know why I'm going.”

“Why?” exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, “why? To take possession of the moon in the name of the United States; to add a fortieth State to the Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate them, to people them, to transport thither all the prodigies of art, of science, and industry; to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized than we are; and to constitute them a republic, if they are not already one!”

“Why?” Michel exclaimed, jumping a yard into the air. “Why? To claim the moon in the name of the United States and add a fortieth State to the Union! To colonize the lunar regions, farm them, and populate them! To bring all the wonders of art, science, and industry there! To civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized than we are! And to make them a republic, if they are not already one!”

“And if there are no Selenites?” retorted Nicholl, who, under the influence of this unaccountable intoxication, was very contradictory.

“And if there are no Selenites?” Nicholl shot back. Under the influence of this inexplicable intoxication, he was very argumentative.

“Who said that there were no Selenites?” exclaimed Michel in a threatening tone.

“Who said there were no Selenites?” Michel exclaimed threateningly.

“I do,” howled Nicholl.

“I do,” howled Nicholl.

“Captain,” said Michel, “do not repeat that insolence, or I will knock your teeth down your throat!”

“Captain,” said Michel, “don't insult me again, or I'll knock your teeth down your throat!”

The two adversaries were going to fall upon each other, and the incoherent discussion threatened to merge into a fight, when Barbicane intervened with one bound.

The two opponents were about to attack each other. Their confused argument threatened to turn into a fight, but Barbicane leaped between them.

“Stop, miserable men,” said he, separating his two companions; “if there are no Selenites, we will do without them.”

“Stop, you miserable men,” he said, separating his two companions. “If there are no Selenites, we’ll do without them.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Michel, who was not particular; “yes, we will do without them. We have only to make Selenites. Down with the Selenites!”

“Yes!” exclaimed Michel, who wasn't picky. “Yes, we can do without them. We just have to make Selenites. Down with the Selenites!”

“The empire of the moon belongs to us,” said Nicholl.

“The Moon’s empire belongs to us,” said Nicholl.

“Let us three constitute the republic.”

“Let the three of us form a republic.”

“I will be the congress,” cried Michel.

“I’ll be the congress,” Michel exclaimed.

“And I the senate,” retorted Nicholl.

“And I am the senate,” Nicholl shot back.

“And Barbicane, the president,” howled Michel.

“And President Barbicane,” Michel shouted.

“Not a president elected by the nation,” replied Barbicane.

“Not a president elected by the nation,” Barbicane replied.

“Very well, a president elected by the congress,” cried Michel; “and as I am the congress, you are unanimously elected!”

“All right, a president elected by Congress!” cried Michel. “And since I am Congress, you are unanimously elected!”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! for President Barbicane,” exclaimed Nicholl.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah for President Barbicane!” shouted Nicholl.

“Hip! hip! hip!” vociferated Michel Ardan.

“Hip! hip! hip!” shouted Michel Ardan.

Then the president and the senate struck up in a tremendous voice the popular song “Yankee Doodle,” while from the congress resounded the masculine tones of the “Marseillaise.”

Then the president and the senate sang “Yankee Doodle” at the top of their voices. At the same time, the congress sang the “Marseillaise” in deep, masculine voices.

Then they struck up a frantic dance, with maniacal gestures, idiotic stampings, and somersaults like those of the boneless clowns in the circus. Diana, joining in the dance, and howling in her turn, jumped to the top of the projectile. An unaccountable flapping of wings was then heard amid most fantastic cock-crows, while five or six hens fluttered like bats against the walls.

Then they began a frantic dance, making wild gestures and stamping foolishly. They turned somersaults like the boneless clowns at a circus. Diana joined the dance, howling in turn, and jumped to the top of the projectile. Then, for no clear reason, wings flapped amid the strangest rooster crows. Five or six hens fluttered against the walls like bats.

Then the three traveling companions, acted upon by some unaccountable influence above that of intoxication, inflamed by the air which had set their respiratory apparatus on fire, fell motionless to the bottom of the projectile.

Then some mysterious force, stronger than intoxication, overcame the three companions. The air had set their lungs on fire, and they fell motionless to the bottom of the projectile.