"What!" asked Michel Ardan, "do you mean to say that we are already beyond the terrestrial atmosphere?"
"Without the slightest doubt, Michel. Listen to me. It now wants but five minutes to eleven. It is already eight minutes since we started. Now, if our initial velocity has not been diminished by friction, six seconds would be enough for us to pass the sixteen leagues of atmosphere which surround our spheroid."
"Just so," answered Nicholl; "but in what proportion do you reckon the diminution of speed by friction?"
"In the proportion of one-third," answered Barbicane. "This diminution is considerable, but it is so much according to my calculations. If, therefore, we have had an initial velocity of 11,000 metres, when we get past the atmosphere it will be reduced to 7,332 metres. However that may be, we have already cleared that space, and—"
"And then," said Michel Ardan, "friend Nicholl has lost his two bets—four thousand dollars because the Columbiad has not burst, five thousand dollars because the projectile has risen to a greater height than six miles; therefore, Nicholl, shell out."
"We must prove it first," answered the captain, "and pay afterwards. It is quite possible that Barbicane's calculations are exact, and that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But another hypothesis has come into my mind, and it may cancel the wager."
"What is that?" asked Barbicane quickly.
"The supposition that for some reason or other the powder did not catch fire, and we have not started."
"Good heavens! captain," cried Michel Ardan, "that is a supposition worthy of me! It is not serious! Have we not been half stunned by the shock? Did I not bring you back to life? Does not the president's shoulder still bleed from the blow?"
"Agreed, Michel," replied Nicholl, "but allow me to ask one question."