Now, only supposing the Projectile's velocity to be absolutely annihilated at the dead point, the slightest force directing it towards the Moon would be _certain_ to cause it finally to fall on her surface.
Supposing!--but supposing the contrary! -- Even these brave adventurers had not the courage to suppose the contrary! "Five minutes to one o'clock," said M'Nicholl, his eyes never quitting his watch.
"Ready ?" asked Barbican of Ardan.
"Ay, ay, sir!" was Ardan's reply, as he made sure that the electric apparatus to discharge the rockets was in perfect working order.
"Wait till I give the word," said Barbican, pulling out his chronometer.
The moment was now evidently close at hand.

The objects lying around had no weight.

The travellers felt their bodies to be as buoyant as a hydrogen balloon.

Barbican let go his chronometer, but it kept its place as firmly in empty space before his eyes as if it had been nailed to the wall! "One o'clock!" cried Barbican in a solemn tone.
Ardan instantly touched the discharging key of the little electric battery.

A dull, dead, distant report was immediately heard, communicated probably by the vibration of the Projectile to the internal air.