"And a very safe distance, too," said Ben Zoof, when his master
told him the conclusion at which he had arrived.

"All very well for two armies, but for a couple of planets
not quite so safe, perhaps, as you may imagine. It is my

impression that it is more than likely we may run foul of Venus,"
said the captain.

"Plenty of air and water there, sir?" inquired the orderly.
"Yes; as far as I can tell, plenty," replied Servadac.

"Then why shouldn't we go and visit Venus?"
Servadac did his best to explain that as the two planets were

of about equal volume, and were traveling with great velocity
in opposite directions, any collision between them must be attended

with the most disastrous consequences to one or both of them.
But Ben Zoof failed to see that, even at the worst, the catastrophe

could be much more serious than the collision of two railway trains.
The captain became exasperated. "You idiot!" he angrily exclaimed;

"cannot you understand that the planets are traveling a thousand
times faster than the fastest express, and that if they meet,

either one or the other must be destroyed? What would become
of your darling Montmartre then?"

The captain had touched a tender chord. For a moment Ben Zoof stood with
clenched teeth and contracted muscles; then, in a voice of real concern,

he inquired whether anything could be done to avert the calamity.
"Nothing whatever; so you may go about your own business,"

was the captain's brusque rejoinder.
All discomfited and bewildered, Ben Zoof retired without a word.

During the ensuing days the distance between the two planets continued
to decrease, and it became more and more obvious that the earth,

on her new orbit, was about to cross the orbit of Venus. Throughout this
time the earth had been making a perceptible approach towards Mercury,

and that planet--which is rarelyvisible to the naked eye,
and then only at what are termed the periods of its greatest

eastern and western elongations--now appeared in all its splendor.
It amply justified the epithet of "sparkling" which the ancients

were accustomed to confer upon it, and could scarcely fail
to awaken a new interest. The periodic recurrence of its phases;

its reflection of the sun's rays, shedding upon it a light
and a heat seven times greater than that received by the earth;

its glacial and its torrid zones, which, on account of the great
inclination of the axis, are scarcely separable; its equatorial bands;

its mountains eleven miles high;--were all subjects of observation
worthy of the most studious regard.

But no danger was to be apprehended from Mercury; with Venus
only did collision appear imminent. By the l8th of January

the distance between that planet and the earth had become reduced
to between two and three millions of miles, and the intensity

of its light cast heavy shadows from all terrestrial objects.
It might be observed to turn upon its own axis in twenty-three

hours twenty-one minutes--an evidence, from the unaltered duration
of its days, that the planet had not shared in the disturbance.

On its disc the clouds formed from its atmospheric vapor were plainly
perceptible, as also were the seven spots, which, according to Bianchini,

are a chain of seas. It was now visible in broad daylight.
Buonaparte, when under the Directory, once had his attention

called to Venus at noon, and immediately hailed it joyfully,
recognizing it as his own peculiar star in the ascendant.

Captain Servadac, it may well be imagined, did not experience
the same gratifying emotion.

On the 20th, the distance between the two bodies had again
sensibly diminished. The captain had ceased to be surprised

that no vessel had been sent to rescue himself and his
companion from their strange imprisonment; the governor

general and the minister of war were doubtless far differently
occupied, and their interests far otherwise engrossed.

What sensational articles, he thought, must now be teeming to
the newspapers! What crowds must be flocking to the churches!

The end of the world approaching! the great climax close at hand!
Two days more, and the earth, shivered into a myriad atoms,

would be lost in boundless space!
These dire forebodings, however, were not destined to be realized.

Gradually the distance between the two planets began to increase;
the planes of their orbits did not coincide, and accordingly

the dreaded catastrophe did not ensue. By the 25th, Venus was
sufficiently remote to preclude any further fear of collision.

Ben Zoof gave a sigh of relief when the captain communicated
the glad intelligence.

Their proximity to Venus had been close enough to demonstrate
that beyond a doubt that planet has no moon or satellite such

as Cassini, Short, Montaigne of Limoges, Montbarron, and some
other astronomers have imagined to exist. "Had there been such

a satellite," said Servadac, "we might have captured it in passing.
But what can be the meaning," he added seriously, "of all this

displacement of the heavenly bodies?"
"What is that great building at Paris, captain, with a top like a cap?"

asked Ben Zoof.
"Do you mean the Observatory?"

"Yes, the Observatory. Are there not people living in the Observatory
who could explain all this?"

"Very likely; but what of that?"
"Let us be philosophers, and wait patiently until we can

hear their explanation."
Servadac smiled. "Do you know what it is to be a philosopher,

Ben Zoof?" he asked.
"I am a soldier, sir," was the servant's prompt rejoinder, "and I

have learnt to know that 'what can't be cured must be endured.'"
The captain made no reply, but for a time, at least, he desisted from puzzling

himself over matters which he felt he was utterly incompetent to explain.
But an event soon afterwards occurred which awakened his keenest interest.

About nine o'clock on the morning of the 27th, Ben Zoof walked deliberately
into his master's apartment, and, in reply to a question as to what he wanted,

announced with the utmostcomposure that a ship was in sight.
"A ship!" exclaimed Servadac, starting to his feet. "A ship!

Ben Zoof, you donkey! you speak as unconcernedly as though you
were telling me that my dinner was ready."

"Are we not philosophers, captain?" said the orderly.
But the captain was out of hearing.

CHAPTER IX
INQUIRIES UNSATISFIED

Fast as his legs could carry him, Servadac had made his way to
the top of the cliff. It was quite true that a vessel was in sight,

hardly more than six miles from the shore; but owing to the increase
in the earth's convexity, and the consequentlimitation of the range

of vision, the rigging of the topmasts alone was visible above the water.
This was enough, however, to indicate that the ship was a schooner--

an impression that was confirmed when, two hours later, she came
entirely in sight.

"The _Dobryna_!" exclaimed Servadac, keeping his eye unmoved
at his telescope.

"Impossible, sir!" rejoined Ben Zoof; "there are no signs of smoke."
"The _Dobryna_!" repeated the captain, positively. "She is under sail;

but she is Count Timascheff's yacht."
He was right. If the count were on board, a strange fatality

was bringing him to the presence of his rival. But no longer
now could Servadac regard him in the light of an adversary;

circumstances had changed, and all animosity was absorbed in
the eagerness with which he hailed the prospect of obtaining some

information about the recent startling and inexplicable events.
During the twenty-seven days that she had been absent, the _Dobryna_,

he conjectured, would have explored the Mediterranean,
would very probably have visited Spain, France, or Italy,

and accordingly would convey to Gourbi Island some intelligence
from one or other of those countries. He reckoned, therefore,

not only upon ascertaining the extent of the late catastrophe,