Servadac was the first to speak. “In fifty-one days, if Professor Rosette has made no error in his calculations, there is to be a recurrence of collision between this comet and the earth. The inquiry that we have now to make is whether we are prepared for the coming shock. I ask myself, and I ask you, whether it is in our power, by any means, to avert the evil consequences that are only too likely to follow?” Count Timascheff, in a voice that seemed to thrill with solemnity, said: “In such events we are at the disposal of an over-ruling Providence; human precautions cannot sway the Divine will.” “But with the most profound reverence for the will of Providence,” replied the captain, “I beg to submit that it is our duty to devise whatever means we can to escape the threatening mischief. Heaven helps them that help themselves.” “And what means have you to suggest, may I ask?” said the count, with a faint accent of satire. Servadac was forced to acknowledge that nothing tangible had hitherto presented itself to his mind. “I don’t want to intrude,” observed Ben Zoof, “but I don’t understand why such learned gentlemen as you cannot make the comet go where you want it to go.” “You are mistaken, Ben Zoof, about our learning,” said the captain; “even Professor Rosette, with all his learning, has not a shadow of power to prevent the comet and the earth from knocking against each other.” “Then I cannot see what is the use of all this learning,” the orderly replied. “One great use of learning,” said Count Timascheff with a smile, “is to make us know our own ignorance.” While this conversation had been going on, Lieutenant Procope had been sitting in thoughtful silence. Looking up, he now said, “Incident to this expected shock, there may be a variety of dangers. If, gentlemen, you will allow me, I will enumerate them; and we shall, perhaps, by taking them _seriatim_, be in a better position to judge whether we can successfully grapple with them, or in any way mitigate their consequences.” There was a general attitude of attention. It was surprising how calmly they proceeded to discuss the circumstances that looked so threatening and ominous. “First of all,” resumed the lieutenant, “we will specify the different ways in which the shock may happen.” “And the prime fact to be remembered,” interposed Servadac, “is that the combined velocity of the two bodies will be about 21,000 miles an hour.” “Express speed, and no mistake!” muttered Ben Zoof. “Just so,” assented Procope. “Now, the two bodies may impinge either directly or obliquely. If the impact is sufficiently oblique, Gallia may do precisely what she did before: she may graze the earth; she may, or she may not, carry off a portion of the earth’s atmosphere and substance, and so she may float away again into space; but her orbit would undoubtedly be deranged, and if we survive the shock, we shall have small chance of ever returning to the world of our fellow-creatures.”