Besides, another phenomenon would mark the stopping point of the projectile on the neutral line.  In that spot the two attractions, terrestrial and lunar, would be annihilated.  Objects would not weigh anything.  This singular fact, which had so curiously surprised Barbicane and his companions before, must again come about under identical circumstances.  It was at that precise moment they must act.

The conical summit of the bullet had already sensibly turned towards the lunar disc.  The projectile was just right for utilising all the recoil produced by setting fire to the apparatus.  Chance was therefore in the travellers’ favour.  If the velocity of the projectile were to be absolutely annihilated upon the neutral point, a given motion, however slight, towards the moon would determine its fall.

“Five minutes to one,” said Nicholl.

“Everything is ready,” answered Michel Ardan, directing his match towards the flame of the gas.

“Wait!” said Barbicane, chronometer in hand.

At that moment weight had no effect.  The travellers felt its complete disappearance in themselves.  They were near the neutral point if they had not reached it.

“One o’clock!” said Barbicane.

Michel Ardan put his match to a contrivance that put all the fuses into instantaneous communication.  No detonation was heard outside, where air was wanting, but through the port-lights Barbicane saw the prolonged flame, which was immediately extinguished.

The projectile had a slight shock which was very sensibly felt in the interior.

The three friends looked, listened, without speaking, hardly breathing.  The beating of their hearts might have been heard in the absolute silence.

“Are we falling?” asked Michel Ardan at last.

“No,” answered Nicholl; “for the bottom of the projectile has not turned towards the lunar disc!”

At that moment Barbicane left his window and turned towards his two companions.  He was frightfully pale, his forehead wrinkled, his lips contracted.

“We are falling!” said he.

“Ah!” cried Michel Ardan, “upon the moon?”

“Upon the earth!” answered Barbicane.

“The devil!” cried Michel Ardan; and he added philosophically, “when we entered the bullet we did not think it would be so difficult to get out of it again.”

In fact, the frightful fall had begun.  The velocity kept by the projectile had sent it beyond the neutral point.  The explosion of the fuses had not stopped it.  That velocity which had carried the projectile beyond the neutral line as it went was destined to do the same upon its return.  The law of physics condemned it, in its elliptical orbit, to pass by every point it had already passed.

It was a terrible fall from a height of 78,000 leagues, and which no springs could deaden.  According to the laws of ballistics the projectile would strike the earth with a velocity equal to that which animated it as it left the Columbiad—­a velocity of “16,000 metres in the last second!”