“Nowhere,” answered Nicholl.

“How nowhere?”

“Evidently they are unfinished curves, prolonged indefinitely!”

“Ah, savants!  What does it matter about hyperbola or parabola if they both carry us indefinitely into space?”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing.  They cared for art for its own sake.  Never had more useless question been discussed at a more inopportune moment.  The fatal truth was that the projectile, whether hyperbolically or parabolically carried along, would never strike against either the earth or the moon.

What would become of these bold travellers in the most immediate future?  If they did not die of hunger or thirst, they would in a few days, when gas failed them, die for want of air, if the cold had not killed them first!

Still, although it was so important to economise gas, the excessive lowness of the surrounding temperature forced them to consume a certain quantity.  They could not do without either its light or heat.  Happily the caloric developed by the Reiset and Regnault apparatus slightly elevated the temperature of the projectile, and without spending much they could raise it to a bearable degree.

In the meantime observation through the port-lights had become very difficult.  The steam inside the bullet condensed upon the panes and froze immediately.  They were obliged to destroy the opacity of the glass by constant rubbing.  However, they could record several phenomena of the highest interest.

In fact, if the invisible disc had any atmosphere, the shooting stars would be seen passing through it.  If the projectile itself passed through the fluid strata, might it not hear some noise echoed—­a storm, for instance, an avalanche, or a volcano in activity?  Should they not see the intense fulgurations of a burning mountain?  Such facts, carefully recorded, would have singularly elucidated the obscure question of the lunar constitution.  Thus Barbicane and Nicholl, standing like astronomers at their port-lights, watched with scrupulous patience.

But until then the disc remained mute and dark.  It did not answer the multifarious interrogations of these ardent minds.

This provoked from Michel a reflection that seemed correct enough.

“If ever we recommence our journey, we shall do well to choose the epoch when the moon is new.”

“True,” answered Nicholl, “that circumstance would have been more favourable.  I agree that the moon, bathed in sunlight, would not be visible during the passage, but on the other hand the earth would be full.  And if we are dragged round the moon like we are now, we should at least have the advantage of seeing the invisible disc magnificently lighted up.”

“Well said, Nicholl,” replied Michel Ardan.  “What do you think about it, Barbicane?”