"Why?" asked Barbicane.
"Because if you win the first the Columbiad will have burst, and the bullet with it, and Barbicane will not be there to pay you your dollars."
"My wager is deposited in the Baltimore Bank," answered Barbicane simply; "and in default of Nicholl it will go to his heirs."
"What practical men you are!" cried Michel Ardan. "I admire you as much as I do not understand you."
"Eighteen minutes to eleven," said Nicholl.
"Only five minutes more," answered Barbicane.
"Yes, five short minutes!" replied Michel Ardan. "And we are shut up in a bullet at the bottom of a cannon 900 feet long! and under this bullet there are 400,000 lbs. of gun-cotton, worth more than 1,600,000 lbs. of ordinary powder! And friend Murchison, with his chronometer in hand and his eye fixed on the hand and his finger on the electric knob, is counting the seconds to hurl us into the planetary regions."
"Enough, Michel, enough!" said Barbicane in a grave tone. "Let us prepare ourselves. A few seconds only separate us from a supreme moment. Your hands, my friends."
"Yes," cried Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to appear.
The three bold companions shook hands.