"120° of longitude, and how many minutes? I will count."
Hatteras began at number one, and when he got to fifteen, Altamont made a sign to stop.
"Very good," said Hatteras; "now for the latitude. Are you listening? 80°, 81°, 82°, 83°."
Again the sign to stop was made.
"Now for the minutes: 5', 10', 15', 20', 25', 30', 35'."
Altamont stopped him once more, and smiled feebly.
"You say, then, that the Porpoise is in longitude 120° 15', and latitude 83° 35'?"
"Yes," sighed the American, and fell back motionless in the Doctor's arms, completely overpowered by the effort he had made.
"Friends!" exclaimed Hatteras; "you see I was right. Our salvation lies indeed in the north, always in the north. We shall be saved!"
But the joyous, exulting words had hardly escaped his lips before a sudden thought made his countenance change. The serpent of jealousy had stung him, for this stranger was an American, and he had reached three degrees nearer the Pole than the ill-fated Forward.