"Towards the Earth!" "_Sacre!_" cried Ardan, as usually letting off his excitement in French.
"Fire and fury!" cried M'Nicholl, completely startled out of his habitual _sang froid_.
"Thunder and lightning!" swore the usually serene Barbican, now completely stunned by the blow.

"I had never expected this!" Ardan was the first to recover from the deadening shock: his levity came to his relief.
"First impressions are always right," he muttered philosophically.

"The moment I set eyes on the confounded thing, it reminded me of the Bastille; it is now proving its likeness to a worse place: easy enough to get into, but no redemption out of it!" There was no longer any doubt possible on the subject.

The terrible fall had begun.

The Projectile had retained velocity enough not only to carry it beyond the dead point, but it was even able to completely overcome the feeble resistance offered by the rockets.