"You are Barbicane, I suppose?" said Michel Ardan, in a tone
of voice in which he would have addressed a friend of twenty
years' standing.

"Yes," replied the president of the Gun Club.

"All right! how d'ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on--
pretty well? that's right."

"So," said Barbicane without further preliminary, "you are quite
determined to go."

"Quite decided."

"Nothing will stop you?"

"Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my telegram."

"I waited for your arrival. But," asked Barbicane again, "have
you carefully reflected?"

"Reflected? have I any time to spare? I find an opportunity of
making a tour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is
the whole gist of the matter."

Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so lightly of his
project with such complete absence of anxiety. "But, at least,"
said he, "you have some plans, some means of carrying your
project into execution?"