The rockets had been put in their places to slacken the fall of the bullet upon the moon, and now the bold fellows were going to use them to provoke an exactly contrary effect.  However that may be, they were ready, and there was nothing to do but await the moment for setting fire to them.

“As there is nothing to do,” said Nicholl, “I have a proposition to make.”

“What is that?” asked Barbicane.

“I propose we go to sleep.”

“That is a nice idea!” exclaimed Michel Ardan.

“It is forty hours since we have closed our eyes,” said Nicholl.  “A few hours’ sleep would set us up again.”

“Never!” replied Michel.

“Good,” said Nicholl; “every man to his humour—­mine is to sleep.”

And lying down on a divan, Nicholl was soon snoring like a forty-eight pound bullet.

“Nicholl is a sensible man,” said Barbicane soon.  “I shall imitate him.”

A few minutes after he was joining his bass to the captain’s baritone.

“Decidedly,” said Michel Ardan, when he found himself alone, “these practical people sometimes do have opportune ideas.”

And stretching out his long legs, and folding his long arms under his head, Michel went to sleep too.

But this slumber could neither be durable nor peaceful.  Too many preoccupations filled the minds of these three men, and a few hours after, at about 7 a.m., they all three awoke at once.

The projectile was still moving away from the moon, inclining its conical summit more and more towards her.  This phenomenon was inexplicable at present, but it fortunately aided the designs of Barbicane.

Another seventeen hours and the time for action would have come.

That day seemed long.  However bold they might be, the travellers felt much anxiety at the approach of the minute that was to decide everything, either their fall upon the moon or their imprisonment in an immutable orbit.  They therefore counted the hours, which went too slowly for them, Barbicane and Nicholl obstinately plunged in calculations, Michel walking up and down the narrow space between the walls contemplating with longing eye the impassible moon.

Sometimes thoughts of the earth passed through their minds.  They saw again their friends of the Gun Club, and the dearest of them all, J.T.  Maston.  At that moment the honourable secretary must have been occupying his post on the Rocky Mountains.  If he should perceive the projectile upon the mirror of his gigantic telescope what would he think?  After having seen it disappear behind the south pole of the moon, they would see it reappear at the north!  It was, therefore, the satellite of a satellite!  Had J.T.  Maston sent that unexpected announcement into the world?  Was this to be the denouement of the great enterprise?

Meanwhile the day passed without incident.  Terrestrial midnight came.  The 8th of December was about to commence.  Another hour and the point of equal attraction would be reached.  What velocity then animated the projectile?  They could form no estimate; but no error could vitiate Barbicane’s calculations.  At 1 a.m. that velocity ought to be and would be nil.