equal it has ever been seen. But this sight may cost us dear. And if I must say all I think, I believe that we are now looking at things which God never intended man to see.”
Ned was right. It was too beautiful. Suddenly a cry from Conseil made me turn.
“What is the matter?” I cried.
“I am blinded, I believe!”
I turned involuntarily to the window. The vessel was was going at a great pace now. I understood what had happened. All the quiet glittering of the icy walls was now changed into flashing lightning. The glare of these myriads of diamonds was absolutely blinding. The Nautilus was sailing through a stream of lightning.
The panels were closed. We held our hands before our eyes, still affected by the intense glare. It was some time before our eyes recovered their usual power. At length we removed our hands.
“I should scarcely believe such a thing,” said Conseil.
“I do not believe it now,” replied the Canadian.
“When we return to earth,” added Conseil, “satiated with all the wonders of nature, what shall we think of the miserable continents and the petty efforts of men? No, the habitable world is not enough for us.”
To hear such a speech from the impassible Fleming was a proof that some degree of excitement had increased our enthusiasm. But the Canadian did not fail to throw cold water on it.
“The inhabited world!” cried he, nodding his head. “Be easy on that score, friend Conseil; we shall never get there again.”
It was then 5 a.m. We suddenly felt a shock. I understood that the spur of the Nautilus had struck a block
