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Things stood thus, when an incident took place which increased the interest attached to this great enterprise a hundredfold. A Frenchman, an enthusiastic Parisian, as witty as he was bold, asked to be enclosed in the projectile, in order that he might reach the moon, and reconnoiter this terrestrial satellite. The name of this intrepid adventurer was Michel Ardan.
She advanced with great speed, and seemed to describe an orbit round the earth, which would intersect the passage of the projectile. This body revolved upon its axis, and exhibited the phenomena of all celestial bodies abandoned in space. "Ah!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, "What is that? another projectile?" Barbicane did not answer. The appearance of this enormous body surprised and troubled him.
"It's the Moon, who by her interposition has cut off the Sun's light." "The Sun had no business to allow it to be cut off," said Ardan, still angry and therefore decidedly loose in his assertions. Before M'Nicholl could reply, Barbican interposed, and his even voice was soon heard pouring balm on the troubled waters.
It was a simple scratch, which he carefully closed. Nevertheless, Barbicane was some time before he came to himself, which frightened his two friends, who did not spare their friction. "He is breathing, however," said Nicholl, putting his ear to the breast of the wounded man. "Yes," answered Ardan, "he is breathing like a man who is in the habit of doing it daily.
"Did you hear the detonation, which must certainly have been formidable?" "No," answered Ardan, much surprised, "I certainly did not hear it." "And you, Barbicane?" "I did not either." "What do you make of that?" asked Nicholl. "What indeed!" murmured the president; "why did we not hear the detonation?" The three friends looked at one another rather disconcertedly.
Breakfast now was the last thing thought of. Barbican, with teeth grating, fingers clutching, and eye-brows closely contracting, gazed grimly through the window. The Captain, as a last resource, once more examined his calculations, earnestly hoping to find a figure wrong. Ardan could neither sit, stand nor lie still for a second, though he tried all three.
"In the lucid opinion of the honorable and learned gentleman who spoke last," said Ardan, "the Chair is compelled to concur. Therefore, as to the second question before the house for deliberation, Has the Moon been ever inhabited? the Chair gets out of its difficulty, as a Scotch jury does when it has not evidence enough either way, by returning a solemn verdict of Not Proven!"
He observed Captain Nicholl closely, asking himself if, once the captain's vengeance satisfied, the unfortunate Barbicane had not been left lying in some bloody thicket. Michel Ardan seemed to have the same thought, and they were both looking questioningly at Captain Nicholl when Maston suddenly stopped.
The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought of breakfast. Barbicane, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands clasped convulsively, was watching through the window. Nicholl had crossed his arms, and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardan was muttering: "That is just like these scientific men: they never do anything else.
Ardan neither wrote nor calculated, but kept up an incessant fire of small talk, now with Barbican, who hardly ever answered him, now with M'Nicholl, who never heard him, occasionally with Diana, who never understood him, but oftenest with himself, because, as he said, he liked not only to talk to a sensible man but also to hear what a sensible man had to say.
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