This fresh work was ended about 3 p.m., and all precaution taken they had now nothing to do but to wait.

In the meantime the projectile visibly drew nearer the moon.  It was, therefore, submitted in some proportion to its influence; but its own velocity also inclined it in an oblique line.  Perhaps the result of these two influences would be a line that would become a tangent.  But it was certain that the projectile was not falling normally upon the surface of the moon, for its base, by reason of its weight, ought to have been turned towards her.

Barbicane’s anxiety was increased on seeing that his bullet resisted the influence of gravitation.  It was the unknown that was before him—­the unknown of the interstellar regions.  He, the savant, believed that he had foreseen the only three hypotheses that were possible—­the return to the earth, the fall upon the moon, or stagnation upon the neutral line!  And here a fourth hypothesis, full of all the terrors of the infinite, cropped up inopportunely.  To face it without flinching took a resolute savant like Barbicane, a phlegmatic being like Nicholl, or an audacious adventurer like Michel Ardan.

Conversation was started on this subject.  Other men would have considered the question from a practical point of view.  They would have wondered where the projectile would take them to.  Not they, however.  They sought the cause that had produced this effect.

“So we are off the line,” said Michel.  “But how is that?”

“I am very much afraid,” answered Nicholl, “that notwithstanding all the precautions that were taken, the Columbiad was not aimed correctly.  The slightest error would suffice to throw us outside the pale of lunar attraction.”

“Then the cannon was pointed badly?” said Michel.

“I do not think so,” answered Barbicane.  “The cannon was rigorously perpendicular, and its direction towards the zenith of the place was incontestable.  The moon passing the zenith, we ought to have reached her at the full.  There is another reason, but it escapes me.”

“Perhaps we have arrived too late,” suggested Nicholl.

“Too late?” said Barbicane.

“Yes,” resumed Nicholl.  “The notice from the Cambridge Observatory said that the transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven hours thirteen minutes and twenty seconds.  That means that before that time the moon would not have reached the point indicated, and after she would have passed it.”

“Agreed,” answered Barbicane.  “But we started on the 1st of December at 11h. 13m. 25s. p.m., and we ought to arrive at midnight on the 5th, precisely as the moon is full.  Now this is the 5th of December.  It is half-past three, and eight hours and a half ought to be sufficient to take us to our goal.  Why are we not going towards it?”

“Perhaps the velocity was greater than it ought to have been,” answered Nicholl, “for we know now that the initial velocity was greater than it was supposed to be.”