“Yes,” said the captain, “now I don’t know where I am going, I will know why I am going.”

“Why?” cried 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 colonise the lunar regions, to cultivate them, people them, to take them all the wonders of art, science, and industry!  To civilise the Selenites, unless they are more civilised than we are, and to make them into a republic if they have not already done it for themselves!”

“If there are any Selenites!” answered Nicholl, who under the empire of this inexplicable intoxication became very contradictory.

“Who says there are no Selenites?” cried Michel in a threatening tone.

“I do!” shouted Nicholl.

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

The two adversaries were about to rush upon one another, and this incoherent discussion was threatening to degenerate into a battle, when Barbicane interfered.

“Stop, unhappy men,” said he, putting his two companions back to back, “if there are no Selenites, we will do without them!”

“Yes!” exclaimed Michel, who did not care more about them than that.  “We have nothing to do with the Selenites!  Bother the Selenites!”

“The empire of the moon shall be ours,” said Nicholl.  “Let us found a Republic of three!”

“I shall be the Congress,” cried Michel.

“And I the Senate,” answered Nicholl.

“And Barbicane the President,” shouted Michel.

“No President elected by the nation!” answered Barbicane.

“Well, then, a President elected by the Congress,” exclaimed Michel; “and as I am the Congress I elect you unanimously.”

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

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

Then the President and Senate struck up “Yankee Doodle” as loudly as they could, whilst the Congress shouted the virile “Marseillaise.”

Then began a frantic dance with maniacal gestures, mad stamping, and somersaults of boneless clowns.  Diana took part in the dance, howling too, and jumped to the very roof of the projectile.  An inexplicable flapping of wings and cock-crows of singular sonority were heard.  Five or six fowls flew about striking the walls like mad bats.

Then the three travelling companions, whose lungs were disorganised under some incomprehensible influence, more than intoxicated, burnt by the air that had set their breathing apparatus on fire, fell motionless upon the bottom of the projectile.

CHAPTER VIII.

AT SEVENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN LEAGUES.

What had happened?  What was the cause of that singular intoxication, the consequences of which might prove so disastrous?  Simply carelessness on Michel’s part, which Nicholl was able to remedy in time.