“That is true,” said Nicholl.

“Ah, my brave Nicholl,” cried Barbicane, “we are saved!”

“Very well then,” answered Michel Ardan tranquilly, “as we are saved, let us have breakfast.”

Nicholl was not mistaken.  The initial speed had happily been greater than that indicated by the Cambridge Observatory, but the Cambridge Observatory had no less been mistaken.

The travellers, recovered from their false alarm, sat down to table and breakfasted merrily.  Though they ate much they talked more.  Their confidence was greater after the “algebra incident.”

“Why should we not succeed?” repeated Michel Ardan.  “Why should we not arrive?  We are on the road; there are no obstacles before us, and no stones on our route.  It is free—­freer than that of a ship that has to struggle with the sea, or a balloon with the wind against it!  Now if a ship can go where it pleases, or a balloon ascend where it pleases, why should not our projectile reach the goal it was aimed at?”

“It will reach it,” said Barbicane.

“If only to honour the American nation,” added Michel Ardan, “the only nation capable of making such an enterprise succeed—­the only one that could have produced a President Barbicane!  Ah! now I think of it, now that all our anxieties are over, what will become of us?  We shall be as dull as stagnant water.”

Barbicane and Nicholl made gestures of repudiation.

“But I foresaw this, my friends,” resumed Michel Ardan.  “You have only to say the word.  I have chess, backgammon, cards, and dominoes at your disposition.  We only want a billiard-table!”

“What?” asked Barbicane, “did you bring such trifles as those?”

“Certainly,” answered Michel; “not only for our amusement, but also in the praiseworthy intention of bestowing them upon Selenite inns.”

“My friend,” said Barbicane, “if the moon is inhabited its inhabitants appeared some thousands of years before those of the earth, for it cannot be doubted that the moon is older than the earth.  If, therefore, the Selenites have existed for thousands of centuries—­if their brains are organised like that of human beings—­they have invented all that we have invented, already, and even what we shall only invent in the lapse of centuries.  They will have nothing to learn from us, and we shall have everything to learn from them.”

“What!” answered Michel, “do you think they have had artists like Phidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?”

“Yes.”

“Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, and Kant?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Savants like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, and Newton?”

“I could swear it.”

“Clowns like Arnal, and photographers like—­Nadar?”

“I am certain of it.”

“Then, friend Barbicane, if these Selenites are as learned as we, and even more so, why have they not hurled a lunar projectile as far as the terrestrial regions?”