"But, by the bye, Barbican!" cried the Frenchman, dropping the subject
with his usual abruptness; "you have forgotten something else! Why
didn't you bring a scaphander and an air pump? I could then venture out
of the Projectile as readily and as safely as the diver leaves his boat
and walks about on the bottom of the river! What fun to float in the
midst of that mysterious ether! to steep myself, aye, actually to revel
in the pure rays of the glorious sun! I should have ventured out on the
very point of the Projectile, and there I should have danced and
postured and kicked and bobbed and capered in a style that Taglioni
never dreamed of!"
"Shouldn't I like to see you!" cried the Captain grimly, smiling at the
idea.
"You would not see him long!" observed Barbican quietly. "The air
confined in his body, freed from external pressure, would burst him like
a shell, or like a balloon that suddenly rises to too great a height in
the air! A scaphander would have been a fatal gift. Don't regret its
absence, friend Michael; never forget this axiom: _As long as we are
floating in empty space, the only spot where safety is possible is
inside the Projectile!_"
The words "possible" and "impossible" always grated on Ardan's ears.
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