"Everything is in its place," said Barbicane. "The question now is where we can place ourselves so as best to support the departing shock. The position we assume must be important too—we must prevent the blood rushing too violently to our heads."
"That is true," said Nicholl.
"Then," answered Michel Ardan, always ready to suit the action to the word, "we will stand on our heads like the clowns at the circus."
"No," said Barbicane; "but let us lie on our sides; we shall thus resist the shock better. When the bullet starts it will not much matter whether we are inside or in front."
"If it comes to 'not much matter' I am more reassured," answered Michel
Ardan.
"Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane.
"Entirely," answered the captain. "Still thirteen minutes and a-half."
"Nicholl is not a man," exclaimed Michel; "he is a chronometer marking the seconds, and with eight holes in—"
But his companions were no longer listening to him, and they were making their last preparations with all the coolness imaginable. They looked like two methodical travellers taking their places in the train and making themselves as comfortable as possible. One wonders, indeed, of what materials these American hearts are made, to which the approach of the most frightful danger does not add a single pulsation.
Three beds, thick and solidly made, had been placed in the projectile. Nicholl and Barbicane placed them in the centre of the disc that formed the movable flooring. There the three travellers were to lie down a few minutes before their departure.