But no philosophy could be proof against the common instincts of their humanity; their hearts, their hopes, were set upon their natural home; no speculation, no science, no experience, could induce them to give up their fond and sanguine anticipation that once again they were to come in contact with the earth.
“Only let us escape Jupiter,” said Lieutenant Procope, repeatedly, “and we are free from anxiety.”
“But would not Saturn lie ahead?” asked Servadac and the count in one breath.
“No!” said Procope; “the orbit of Saturn is remote, and does not come athwart our path. Jupiter is our sole hindrance. Of Jupiter we must say, as William Tell said, ‘Once through the ominous pass and all is well.’”
The 15th of October came, the date of the nearest approximation of the comet to the planet. They were only 31,000,000 miles apart. What would now transpire? Would Gallia be diverted from its proper way? or would it hold the course that the astronomer had predicted?
Early next morning the captain ventured to take the count and the lieutenant up to the observatory. The professor was in the worst of tempers.
That was enough. It was enough, without a word, to indicate the course which events had taken. The comet was pursuing an unaltered way.
The astronomer, correct in his prognostications, ought to have been the most proud and contented of philosophers; his pride and contentment were both overshadowed by the certainty that the career of his comet was destined to be so transient, and that it must inevitably once again come into collision with the earth.