rtain luminous points projecting from the crescent as plainly marked
the existence of mountains. As the result of Servadac's computations, he
formed the opinion that Venus could hardly be at a greater distance than
6,000,000 miles from the earth.

"And a very safe distance, too," said Ben Zoof, when his master told him
the conclusion at which he had arrived.

"All very well for two armies, but for a couple of planets not quite so
safe, perhaps, as you may imagine. It is my impression that it is more
than likely we may run foul of Venus," said the captain.

"Plenty of air and water there, sir?" inquired the orderly.

"Yes; as far as I can tell, plenty," replied Servadac.

"Then why shouldn't we go and visit Venus?"

Servadac did his best to explain that as the two planets were of
about equal volume, and were traveling with great velocity in opposite
directions, any collision between them must be attended with the most
disastrous consequences to one or both of them. But Ben Zoof failed to
see that, even at the worst, the catastrophe could be much more serious
than the collision of two railway trains.

The captain became exasperated. "You idiot!" he angrily exclaimed;
"cannot you understand that the planets are traveling a thousand times
faster than the fastest express, and that if they meet, either one
or the other must be destroyed? What would become of your darling
Montmartre then?"

The captain had touched a tender chord. For a moment Ben Zoof stood with
clenched teeth and contracted muscles; then, in a voice of real concern,
he inquired whether anything could be done to avert the calamity.

"Nothing whatever; so you may go about your own business," was the
captain's brusque rejoinder.

All discomfited and bewildered, Ben Zoof retired without a word.

During the ensuing days the distance between the two planets continued
to decrease, and it became more and more obvious that the earth, on her
new orbit, was about to cross the orbit of Venus. Throughout this time
the earth had been making a perceptible approach towards Mercury, and
that planet--which is rarely visible to the naked eye, and then only
at what are termed the periods of its greatest eastern and western
elongations--now appeared in all its splendor. It amply justified the
epithet of "sparkling" which the ancients were accustomed to confer
upon it, and could scarcely fail to awaken a new interest. The periodic
recurrence of its phases; its reflecti