"Our fellow beings no longer, dear boy!" cried Ardan. "We inhabit a new
world peopled by ourselves alone, the Projectile! Ardan is Barbican's
fellow being, and Barbican M'Nicholl's. Beyond us, outside us, humanity
ends, and we are now the only inhabitants of this microcosm, and so we
shall continue till the moment when we become Selenites pure and
simple."

"Which shall be in about eighty-eight hours from now," replied the
Captain.

"Which is as much as to say--?" asked Ardan.

"That it is half past eight," replied M'Nicholl.

"My regular hour for breakfast," exclaimed Ardan, "and I don't see the
shadow of a reason for changing it now."

The proposition was most acceptable, especially to the Captain, who
frequently boasted that, whether on land or water, on mountain summits
or in the depths of mines, he had never missed a meal in all his life.
In escaping from the Earth, our travellers felt that they had by no
means escaped from the laws of humanity, and their stomachs now called
on them lustily to fill the aching void. Ardan, as a Frenchman, claimed
the post of chief cook, an important office, but his companions yielded
it with alacrity. The gas furnished the requisite heat, and the
provision chest supplied the materials for their first repast. They
commenced with three plates of excellent soup, extracted from _Liebig's_
precious tablets, prepared from the best beef that ever roamed over the
Pampas.