Servadac listened attentively. He was at a loss what to say; and the only reply he made to the recital of this novel theory was to the effect that, if it were true, he would prefer being captured by Mercury than by Jupiter, for Mercury, being so much the younger, would probably prove the less imperative and self-willed master.
It was on the 1st of September that the comet had crossed the orbit of Jupiter, and on the 1st of October the two bodies were calculated to be at their minimum separation. No direct shock, however, could be apprehended; the demonstration was sufficiently complete that the orbit of Gallia did not coincide with that of the planet, the orbit of Jupiter being inclined at an angle of 1 degrees 19 mins to the orbit of the earth, with which that of Gallia was, no doubt, coincident.
As the month of September verged towards its close, Jupiter began to wear an aspect that must have excited the admiration of the most ignorant or the most indifferent observer. Its salient points were illumined with novel and radiant tints, and the solar rays, reflected from its disc, glowed with a mingled softness and intensity upon Gallia, so that Nerina had to pale her beauty.
Who could wonder that Rosette, enthusiast as he was, should be irremovable from his observatory? Who could expect otherwise than that, with the prospect before him of viewing the giant among planets, ten times nearer than any mortal eye had ever done, he should have begrudged every moment that distracted his attention?
Meanwhile, as Jupiter grew large, the sun grew small.
From its increased remoteness the diameter of the sun’s disc was diminished to 5 degrees 46 mins.
And what an increased interest began to be associated with the satellites! They were visible to the naked eye! Was it not a new record in the annals of science?
Although it is acknowledged that they are not ordinarily visible on earth without the aid of a somewhat powerful telescope, it has been asserted that a favored few, endued with extraordinary powers of vision, have been able to identify them with an unassisted eye; but here, at least, in Nina’s Hive were many rivals, for everyone could so far distinguish them one from the other as to describe them by their colors. The first was of a dull white shade; the second was blue; the third was white and brilliant; the fourth was orange, at times approaching to a red. It was further observed that Jupiter itself was almost void of scintillation.
Rosette, in his absorbing interest for the glowing glories of the planet, seemed to be beguiled into comparative forgetfulness of the charms of his comet; but no astronomical enthusiasm of the professor could quite allay the general apprehension that some serious collision might be impending.
Time passed on. There was nothing to justify apprehension. The question was continually being asked, “What does the professor really think?”
“Our friend the professor,” said Servadac, “is not likely to tell us very much; but we may feel pretty certain of one thing: he wouldn’t keep us long in the dark, if he thought we were not going back to the earth again. The greatest satisfaction he could have would be to inform us that we had parted from the earth for ever.”
“I trust from my very soul,” said the count, “that his prognostications are correct.”
“The more I see of him, and the more I listen to him,” replied Servadac, “the more I become convinced that his calculations are based on a solid foundation, and will prove correct to the minutest particular.”
Ben Zoof here interrupted the conversation. “I have something on my mind,” he said.
“Something on your mind? Out with it!” said the captain.
“That telescope!” said the orderly; “it strikes me that that telescope which the old professor keeps pointed up at yonder big sun is bringing it down straight upon us.”
The captain laughed heartily.
“Laugh, captain, if you like; but I feel disposed to break the old telescope into atoms.”
“Ben Zoof,” said Servadac, his laughter exchanged for a look of stern displeasure, “touch that telescope, and you shall swing for it!”