Ardan stared at the captain, but he did not wince.

Ardan rushed forward, crying-- "Barbicane! Barbicane!" No answer.

Ardan was about to seize his arm; he stopped short, uttering a cry of surprise.
Barbicane, with a pencil in his hand, was tracing geometrical figures upon a memorandum-book, whilst his unloaded gun lay on the ground.
Absorbed in his work, the _savant_, forgetting in his turn his duel and his vengeance, had neither seen nor heard anything.
But when Michel Ardan placed his hand on that of the president, he got up and looked at him with astonishment.
"Ah!" cried he at last; "you here! I have found it, my friend, I have found it!" "What ?" "The way to do it." "The way to do what ?" "To counteract the effect of the shock at the departure of the projectile." "Really ?" said Michel, looking at the captain out of the corner of his eye.
"Yes, water! simply water, which will act as a spring.

Ah, Maston!" cried Barbicane, "you too!" "Himself," answered Michel Ardan; "and allow me to introduce at the same time the worthy Captain Nicholl." "Nicholl!" cried Barbicane, up in a moment.

"Excuse me, captain," said he; "I had forgotten.