'clock, at least," said Ben Zoof, looking at the sun,
which was a considerable height above the horizon. "It is almost time
for us to start."

"To start! what for?"

"To keep your appointment with Count Timascheff."

"By Jove! I had forgotten all about it!" exclaimed Servadac. Then
looking at his watch, he cried, "What are you thinking of, Ben Zoof? It
is scarcely two o'clock."

"Two in the morning, or two in the afternoon?" asked Ben Zoof, again
regarding the sun.

Servadac raised his watch to his ear. "It is going," said he; "but, by
all the wines of Medoc, I am puzzled. Don't you see the sun is in the
west? It must be near setting."

"Setting, captain! Why, it is rising finely, like a conscript at the
sound of the reveille. It is considerably higher since we have been
talking."

Incredible as it might appear, the fact was undeniable that the sun was
rising over the Shelif from that quarter of the horizon behind which
it usually sank for the latter portion of its daily round. They were
utterly bewildered. Some mysterious phenomenon must not only have
altered the position of the sun in the sidereal system, but must even
have brought about an important modification of the earth's rotation on
her axis.

Captain Servadac consoled himself with the prospect of reading an
explanation of the mystery in next week's newspapers, and turned his
attention to what was to him of more immediate importance. "Come, let
us be off," said he to his orderly; "though heaven and earth be
topsy-turvy, I must be at my post this morning."

"To do Count Timascheff the honor of running him through the body,"
added Ben Zoof.

If Servadac and his orderly had been less preoccupied, they would have
noticed that a variety of other physical changes besides the apparent
alteration in the movement of the sun had been evolved during the
atmospheric disturbances of that New Year's night. As they descended
the steep footpath leading from the cliff towards the Shelif, they were
unconscious that their respiration became forced and rapid, like that of
a mountaineer when he has reached an altitude where the air has become
less charged with oxygen. They were also unconscious that their voices
were thin and feeble; either they must themselves have become rather
deaf, or it was evident that the air had become less capable of
transmitting sound.

The weather, which on the previous evening had been very foggy, had
entirely changed. The sky had assume