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southwest _Fomalhaut_ can be easily seen swallowing the _Cascade_. All
this shows we are looking west and consequently cannot see the Moon,
which is approaching the zenith from the east. Open the other light--But
hold on! Look here! What can this be?"

The three travellers, looking westwardly in the direction of _Alpherat_,
saw a brilliant object rapidly approaching them. At a distance, it
looked like a dusky moon, but the side turned towards the Earth blazed
with a bright light, which every moment became more intense. It came
towards them with prodigious velocity and, what was worse, its path lay
so directly in the course of the Projectile that a collision seemed
inevitable. As it moved onward, from west to east, they could easily see
that it rotated on its axis, like all heavenly bodies; in fact, it
somewhat resembled a Moon on a small scale, describing its regular orbit
around the Earth.

"_Mille tonerres!_" cried Ardan, greatly excited; "what is that? Can it
be another projectile?" M'Nicholl, wiping his spectacles, looked again,
but made no reply. Barbican looked puzzled and uneasy. A collision was
quite possible, and the results, even if not frightful in the highest
degree, must be extremely deplorable. The Projectile, if not absolutely
dashed to pieces, would be diverted from its own course and dragged
along in a new one in obedience to the irresistible attraction of this
furious asteroid.

Barbican fully realized that either alternative involved the complete
failure of their enterprise. He kept perfectly still, but, never losing
his presence of mind, he curiously looked on the approaching object with
a gladiatorial eye, as if seeking to detect some unguarded point in his
terrible adversary. The Captain was equally silent; he looked like a man
who had fully made up his mind to regard every possible contingency with
the most stoical indifference. But Ardan's tongue, more fluent than
ever, rattled away incessantly.

"Look! Look!" he exclaimed, in tones so perfectly expressive of his
rapidly alternating feelings as to render the medium of words totally
unnecessary. "How rapidly the cursed thing is nearing us! Plague take
your ugly phiz, the more I know you, the less I like you! Every second
she doubles in size! Come, Madame Projectile! Stir your stumps a little
livelier, old lady! He's making for you as straight as an arrow! We're
going right in his way, or he's coming in ours, I can't say which. It's
taking a mean advantage of us either way. As for ourselves--what can
_we_ do! Before such a monster as that we are as helpless as three men
in a little skiff shooting down the rapids to the brink of Niagara! Now
for it!"

Nearer and nearer it came, but without noise, without sparks, without a
trail, though its lower part was brighter than ever. Its path lying
little above them, the nearer it came the more the collision seemed
inevitable. Imagine yourself caught on a narrow railroad bridge at

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