the moon under the action of terrestrial attraction has assumed the form of an egg, of which we see the small end. Hence the consequence due to the calculations of Hausen, that its centre of gravity is situated in the other hemisphere. Hence this conclusion that all the masses of air and water have been drawn to the other side of our satellite in the first days of the creation.”
“Pure fancies,” exclaimed the unknown.
“No, pure theories based upon mechanical laws, and it appears difficult to me to refute them. I make appeal to this assembly and put it to the vote to know if life such as it exists upon earth is possible on the surface of the moon?”
Three hundred thousand hearers applauded this proposition. Michel Ardan’s adversary wished to speak again, but he could not make himself heard. Cries and threats were hailed upon him.
“Enough, enough!” said some.
“Turn him out!” repeated others.
But he, holding on to the platform, did not move, and let the storm pass by. It might have assumed formidable proportions if Michel Ardan had not appeased it by a gesture. He was too chivalrous to abandon his contradicter in such an extremity.
“You wish to add a few words?” he asked, in the most gracious tone.
“Yes, a hundred! a thousand!” answered the unknown, carried away, “or rather no, one only! To persevere in your enterprise you must be—”
“Imprudent! How can you call me that when I have asked for a cylindroconical bullet from my friend Barbicane so as not to turn round on the road like a squirrel?”
“But, unfortunate man! the fearful shock will smash you to pieces when you start.”
“You have there put your finger upon the real and only difficulty; but I have too good an opinion of the industrial genius of the Americans to believe that they will not overcome that difficulty.”
“But the heat developed by the speed of the projectile whilst crossing the beds of air?”
“Oh, its sides are thick, and I shall so soon pass the atmosphere.”
“But provisions? water?”
“I have calculated that I could carry enough for one year, and I shall only be four days going.”
“But air to breathe on the road?”
“I shall make some by chemical processes.”
“But your fall upon the moon, supposing you ever get there?”
“It will be six times less rapid than a fall upon the earth, as attraction is six times less on the surface of the moon.”
“But it still will be sufficient to smash you like glass.”
“What will prevent me delaying my fall by means of rockets conveniently placed and lighted at the proper time?”
“But lastly, supposing that all difficulties be solved, all obstacles cleared away by uniting every chance in your favour, admitting that you reach the moon safe and well, how shall you come back?”
“I shall not come back.”
Upon this answer, which was almost sublime by reason of its simplicity, the assembly remained silent. But its silence was more eloquent than its cries of enthusiasm would have been. The unknown profited by it to protest one last time.
“You will infallibly kill yourself,” he cried, “and your death, which will be only a madman’s death, will not even be useful to science.”
“Go on, most generous of men, for you prophesy in the most agreeable manner.”
“Ah, it is too much!” exclaimed Michel Ardan’s adversary, “and I do not know why I go on with so childish a discussion. Go on with your mad enterprise as you like. It is not your fault.”
“Fire away.”
“No, another must bear the responsibility of your acts.”
“Who is that, pray?” asked Michel Ardan in an imperious voice.
“The fool who has organised this attempt, as impossible as it is ridiculous.”
The attack was direct. Barbicane since the intervention of the unknown had made violent efforts to contain himself and “consume his own smoke,” but upon seeing himself so outrageously designated he rose directly and was going to walk towards his adversary, who dared him to his face, when he felt himself suddenly separated from him.
The platform was lifted up all at once by a hundred vigorous arms, and the president of the Gun Club was forced to share the honours of triumph with Michel Ardan. The platform was heavy, but the bearers came in continuous relays, disputing, struggling, even fighting for the privilege of lending the support of their shoulders to this manifestation.
However, the unknown did not take advantage of the tumult to leave the place. He kept in the front row, his arms folded, still staring at President Barbicane.
The president did not lose sight of him either, and the eyes of these two men met like flaming swords.
The cries of the immense crowds kept at their maximum of intensity during this triumphant march. Michel Ardan allowed himself to be carried with evident pleasure.
Sometimes the platform pitched and tossed like a ship beaten by the waves. But the two heroes of the meeting were good sailors, and their vessel safely arrived in the port of Tampa Town.
Michel Ardan happily succeeded in escaping from his vigorous admirers. He fled to the Franklin Hotel, quickly reached his room, and glided rapidly into bed whilst an army of 100,000 men watched under his windows.
In the meanwhile a short, grave, and decisive scene had taken place between the mysterious personage and the president of the Gun Club.
Barbicane, liberated at last, went straight to his adversary.
“Come!” said he in a curt voice.
The stranger followed him on to the quay, and they were soon both alone at the entrance to a wharf opening on to Jones’ Fall.
There these enemies, still unknown to one another, looked at each other.
“Who are you?” asked Barbicane.
“Captain Nicholl.”
“I thought so. Until now fate has never made you cross my path.”
“I crossed it of my own accord.”
“You have insulted me.”
“Publicly.”
“And you shall give me satisfaction for that insult.”
“Now, this minute.”
“No. I wish everything between us to be kept secret. There
