"A closed curve! What is it called? And what is the trouble?"

"An eclipse it is called; and the trouble is that, instead of flying off
into the boundless regions of space, our Projectile will probably
describe an elliptical orbit around the Moon--"

--"What!" cried M'Nicholl, in amazement, "and be her satellite for
ever!"

"All right and proper," said Ardan; "why shouldn't she have one of her
own?"

"Only, my dear friend," said Barbican to Ardan, "this change of curve
involves no change in the doom of the Projectile. We are as infallibly
lost by an ellipse as by a parabola."

"Well, there was one thing I never could reconcile myself to in the
whole arrangement," replied Ardan cheerfully; "and that was destruction
by an open curve. Safe from that, I could say, 'Fate, do your worst!'
Besides, I don't believe in the infallibility of your ellipsic. It may
prove just as unreliable as the hyperbola. And it is no harm to hope
that it may!"

From present appearances there was very little to justify Ardan's hope.
Barbican's theory of the elliptic orbit was unfortunately too well
grounded to allow a single reasonable doubt to be expressed regarding
the Projectile's fate. It was to gravitate for ever around the Moon--a
sub-satellite. It was a new born individual in the astral universe, a
microcosm, a little world in itself, containing, however, only three
inhabitants and even these destined to perish pretty soon for want of
air. Our travellers, therefore, had no particular reason for rejoicing
over the new destiny reserved for the Projectile in obedience to the
inexorable laws of the centripetal and centrifugal forces. They were
soon, it is true, to have the opportunity of beholding once more the
illuminated face of the Moon. They might even live long enough to catch
a last glimpse of the distant Earth bathed in the glory of the solar
rays. They might even have strength enough left to be able to chant one
solemn final eternal adieu to their dear old Mother World, upon whose
features their mortal eyes should never again rest in love and longing!
Then, what was their Projectile to become? An inert, lifeless, extinct
mass, not a particle better than the most defunct asteroid that wanders
blindly through the fields of ether. A gloomy fate to look forward to.
Yet, instead of grieving over the inevitable, our bold travellers
actually felt thrilled with delight at the prospect of even a momentary
deliverance from those gloomy