Whilst the rest were enjoying their recreation, Servadac and the count

would hold long conversations with Lieutenant Procope about their present
position and future prospects, discussing all manner of speculations

as to the results of the anticipated collision with the earth,
and wondering whether any measures could be devised for mitigating

the violence of a shock which might be terrible in its consequences,
even if it did not entail a total annihilation of themselves.

There was no visitor to the Hive more regular than Rosette. He had already
directed his telescope to be moved back to his former observatory, where,

as much as the cold would permit him, he persisted in making his all-absorbing
studies of the heavens.

The result of these studies no one ventured to inquire;
but it became generally noticed that something was very seriously

disturbing the professor's equanimity. Not only would he be seen
toiling more frequently up the arduous way that lay between his nook

below and his telescope above, but he would be heard muttering
in an angry tone that indicated considerable agitation.

One day, as he was hurrying down to his study, he met Ben Zoof, who,
secretly entertaining a feeling of delight at the professor's manifest

discomfiture, made some casual remark about things not being very straight.
The way in which his advance was received the good orderly never divulged,

but henceforward he maintained the firm conviction that there was something
very much amiss up in the sky.

To Servadac and his friends this continual disquietude and ill-humor
on the part of the professor occasioned no little anxiety.

From what, they asked, could his dissatisfaction arise?
They could only conjecture that he had discovered some flaw

in his reckonings; and if this were so, might there not be reason
to apprehend that their anticipations of coming into contact

with the earth, at the settled time, might all be falsified?
Day followed day, and still there was no cessation of the

professor's discomposure. He was the most miserable of mortals. If really
his calculations and his observations were at variance, this, in a man

of his irritabletemperament, would account for his perpetual perturbation.
But he entered into no explanation; he only climbed up to his telescope,

looking haggard and distressed, and when compelled by the frost to retire,
he would make his way back to his study more furious than ever.

At times he was heard giving vent to his vexation. "Confound it!
what does it mean? what is she doing? All behind! Is Newton a fool?

Is the law of universalgravitation the law of universal nonsense?"
And the little man would seize his head in both his hands, and tear

away at the scanty locks which he could ill afford to lose.
Enough was overheard to confirm the suspicion that there was some

irreconcilable discrepancy between the results of his computation
and what he had actually observed; and yet, if he had been called

upon to say, he would have sooner insisted that there was derangement
in the laws of celestialmechanism, than have owned there was

the least probability of error in any of his own calculations.
Assuredly, if the poor professor had had any flesh to lose he would

have withered away to a shadow.
But this state of things was before long to come to an end.

On the 12th, Ben Zoof, who was hanging about outside the great
hall of the cavern, heard the professor inside utter a loud cry.

Hurrying in to ascertain the cause, he found Rosette in a state
of perfect frenzy, in which ecstasy and rage seemed to be struggling

for the predominance.
"Eureka! Eureka!" yelled the excited astronomer.

"What, in the name of peace, do you mean?" bawled Ben Zoof,
in open-mouthed amazement.

"Eureka!" again shrieked the little man.
"How? What? Where?" roared the bewildered orderly.

"Eureka! I say," repeated Rosette; "and if you don't understand me,
you may go to the devil!"

Without availing himself of this politeinvitation, Ben Zoof betook himself
to his master. "Something has happened to the professor," he said;

"he is rushing about like a madman, screeching and yelling 'Eureka!'"
"Eureka?" exclaimed Servadac. "That means he has made a discovery;"

and, full of anxiety, he hurried off to meet the professor.
But, however great was his desire to ascertain what this discovery

implied, his curiosity was not yet destined to be gratified.
The professor kept muttering in incoherent phrases: "Rascal! he shall

pay for it yet. I will be even with him! Cheat! Thrown me out!"
But he did not vouchsafe any reply to Servadac's inquiries,

and withdrew to his study.
From that day Rosette, for some reason at present incomprehensible,

quite altered his behavior to Isaac Hakkabut, a man for whom he had
always hitherto evinced the greatest repugnance and contempt.

All at once he began to show a remarkable interest in the Jew and
his affairs, paying several visits to the dark little storehouse,

making inquiries as to the state of business and expressing some
solicitude about the state of the exchequer.

The wily Jew was taken somewhat by surprise, but came to an immediate
conclusion that the professor was contemplating borrowing some money;

he was consequently very cautious in all his replies.
It was not Hakkabut's habit ever to advance a loan except at an extravagant

rate of interest, or without demanding far more than an adequate security.
Count Timascheff, a Russian nobleman, was evidently rich;

to him perhaps, for a proper consideration, a loan might be made:
Captain Servadac was a Gascon, and Gascons are proverbially poor;

it would never do to lend any money to him; but here was a professor,
a mere man of science, with circumscribed means; did _he_ expect to borrow?

Certainly Isaac would as soon think of flying, as of lending money to him.
Such were the thoughts that made him receive all Rosette's approaches

with a careful reservation.
It was not long, however, before Hakkabut was to be called upon

to apply his money to a purpose for which he had not reckoned.
In his eagerness to effect sales, he had parted with all the

alimentary articles in his cargo without having the precautionary
prudence to reserve enough for his own consumption.

Amongst other things that failed him was his stock of coffee,
and as coffee was a beverage without which he deemed it impossible

to exist, he found himself in considerable perplexity.
He pondered the matter over for a long time, and ultimately persuaded

himself that, after all, the stores were the common property of all,
and that he had as much right to a share as anyone else. Accordingly, he made

his way to Ben Zoof, and, in the most amiable tone he could assume,
begged as a favor that he would let him have a pound of coffee.

The orderly shook his head dubiously.
"A pound of coffee, old Nathan? I can't say."

"Why not? You have some?" said Isaac.
"Oh yes! plenty--a hundred kilogrammes."

"Then let me have one pound. I shall be grateful."
"Hang your gratitude!"

"Only one pound! You would not refuse anybody else."
"That's just the very point, old Samuel; if you were anybody else,

I should know very well what to do. I must refer the matter
to his Excellency."

"Oh, his Excellency will do me justice."
"Perhaps you will find his justice rather too much for you."

And with this consoling remark, the orderly went to seek his master.
Rosette meanwhile had been listening to the conversation, and secretly

rejoicing that an opportunity for which he had been watching had arrived.
"What's the matter, Master Isaac? Have you parted with all your coffee?"

he asked, in a sympathizing voice, when Ben Zoof was gone.
"Ah! yes, indeed," groaned Hakkabut, "and now I require some for my own use.

In my little black hole I cannot live without my coffee."
"Of course you cannot," agreed the professor.

"And don't you think the governor ought to let me have it?"
"No doubt."