Were they three corpses? Had the Projectile suddenly become a great
metallic coffin bearing its ghastly contents through the air with the
rapidity of a lightning flash?

In a very few minutes after the shock, one of the bodies stirred a
little, the arms moved, the eyes opened, the head rose and tried to look
around; finally, with some difficulty, the body managed to get on its
knees. It was the Frenchman! He held his head tightly squeezed between
his hands for some time as if to keep it from splitting. Then he felt
himself rapidly all over, cleared his throat with a vigorous "hem!"
listened to the sound critically for an instant, and then said to
himself in a relieved tone, but in his native tongue:

"One man all right! Call the roll for the others!"

He tried to rise, but the effort was too great for his strength. He fell
back again, his brain swimming, his eyes bursting, his head splitting.
His state very much resembled that of a young man waking up in the
morning after his first tremendous "spree."

"Br--rr!" he muttered to himself, still talking French; "this reminds me
of one of my wild nights long ago in the _Quartier Latin_, only
decidedly more so!"

Lying quietly on his back for a while, he could soon feel that the
circulation of his blood, so suddenly and violently arrested by the
terrific shock, was gradually recovering its regular flow; his heart
grew more normal in its action; his head became clearer, and the pain
less distracting.