"We inhabit a new world peopled by ourselves alone, the Projectile! Ardan is Barbican's fellow being, and Barbican M'Nicholl's.

Beyond us, outside us, humanity ends, and we are now the only inhabitants of this microcosm, and so we shall continue till the moment when we become Selenites pure and simple." "Which shall be in about eighty-eight hours from now," replied the Captain.
"Which is as much as to say-- ?" asked Ardan.
"That it is half past eight," replied M'Nicholl.
"My regular hour for breakfast," exclaimed Ardan, "and I don't see the shadow of a reason for changing it now." The proposition was most acceptable, especially to the Captain, who frequently boasted that, whether on land or water, on mountain summits or in the depths of mines, he had never missed a meal in all his life.
In escaping from the Earth, our travellers felt that they had by no means escaped from the laws of humanity, and their stomachs now called on them lustily to fill the aching void.

Ardan, as a Frenchman, claimed the post of chief cook, an important office, but his companions yielded it with alacrity.

The gas furnished the requisite heat, and the provision chest supplied the materials for their first repast.

They commenced with three plates of excellent soup, extracted from _Liebig's_ precious tablets, prepared from the best beef that ever roamed over the Pampas.
To this succeeded several tenderloin beefsteaks, which, though reduced to a small bulk by the hydraulic engines of the _American Dessicating Company_, were pronounced to be fully as tender, juicy and savory as if they had just left the gridiron of a London Club House.