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!"

The orderly looked astonished.

"I am governor here," said Servadac.

Ben Zoof knew what his master meant, and to him his master's wish was
law.

The interval between the comet and Jupiter was, by the 1st of October,
reduced to 43,000,000 miles. The belts all parallel to Jupiter's equator
were very distinct in their markings. Those immediately north and
south of the equator were of a dusky hue; those toward the poles were
alternately dark and light; the intervening spaces of the planet's
superficies, between edge and edge, being intensely bright. The belts
themselves were occasionally broken by spots, which the records of
astronomy descr