"Oh what a lot of volumes," cried Ardan, "could be made out of what we
don't know!"

"At present, for instance," observed M'Nicholl, "I don't know what
o'clock it is."

"Three o'clock!" said Barbican, glancing at his chronometer.

"No!" cried Ardan in surprise. "Bless us! How rapidly the time passes
when we are engaged in scientific conversation! Ouf! I'm getting
decidedly too learned! I feel as if I had swallowed a library!"

"I feel," observed M'Nicholl, "as if I had been listening to a lecture
on Astronomy in the _Star_ course."

"Better stir around a little more," said the Frenchman; "fatigue of body
is the best antidote to such severe mental labor as ours. I'll run up
the ladder a bit." So saying, he paid another visit to the upper portion
of the Projectile and remained there awhile whistling _Malbrouk_, whilst
his companions amused themselves in looking through the floor window.

Ardan was coming down the ladder, when his whistling was cut short by a
sudden exclamation of surprise.

"What's the matter?" asked Barbican quickly, as he looked up and saw the
Frenchman pointing to something outside the Projectile.

Approaching the window, Barbican saw with much surprise a sort of
flattened bag floating in space and only a few yards off. It seemed