"
"Twenty," said Nicholl.
For some moments the three travelers looked at each other.
Then they began to examine the objects imprisoned with them.
"Everything is in its place," said Barbicane. "We have now to
decide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock.
Position cannot be an indifferent matter; and we must, as much
as possible, prevent the rush of blood to the head."
"Just so," said Nicholl.
"Then," replied Michel Ardan, ready to suit the action to the
word, "let us put our heads down and our feet in the air, like
the clowns in the grand circus."
"No," said Barbicane, "let us stretch ourselves on our sides; we
shall resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when the
projectile starts, it matters little whether we are in it or
before it; it amounts to much the same thing."
"If it is only `much the same thing,' I may cheer up," said
Michel Ardan.
"Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane.
"Entirely," replied the captain. "We've still thirteen minutes
and a half."
"That Nicholl is not a man," exclaimed Michel; "he is a
chronometer with seconds, an escape, and eight holes."
But his companions were not listening; they were taking up their
last positions with the most perfect coolness. They were like
two methodical travelers in a car, seeking to place themselves
as comfortably as possible.
We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts of
these Americans made, to whom the approach of the most frightful
danger added no pulsation.
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