CHAPTER XX.BACK AGAIN.
“In Algeria, captain?”
“Yes, Ben Zoof, in Algeria; and not far from Mostaganem.”
Such were the first words which, after their return to
consciousness, were exchanged between Servadac and his
orderly.
They had resided so long in the province that they
could not for a moment be mistaken as to their whereabouts,
and although they were incapable of clearing up
the mysteries that shrouded the miracle, yet they were
convinced at the first glance that they had been returned
to the earth at the very identical spot where they had
quitted it.
In fact, they were scarcely more than a mile from Mostaganem,
and in the course of an hour, when they had all
recovered from the bewilderment occasioned by the shock,
they started off in a body and made their way to the
town.
It was a matter of extreme surprise to find no symptom
of the least excitement anywhere as they went along. The
population was perfectly calm; every one was pursuing
his ordinary avocation; the cattle were browsing quietly
upon the pastures that were moist with the dew of an
ordinary January morning. It was about eight o'clock;
the sun was rising in the east; nothing could be noticed to
indicate that any abnormal incident had either transpired
or been expected by the inhabitants. As to a collision
with a comet, there was not the faintest trace of any such
phenomenon crossing men's minds, and awakening, as it
surely would, a panic little short of the certified approach
of the millennium.
“Nobody expects us,” said Servadac; “that is very
certain.”
“No, indeed,” answered Ben Zoof, with a sigh; he was
manifestly disappointed that his return to Mostaganem
was not welcomed with a triumphal reception.
They reached the Mascara gate. The first persons
that Servadac recognized were the two friends that he had
invited to be his seconds in the duel two years ago, the
colonel of the 2nd Fusiliers and the captain of the 8th
Artillery.
In return to his somewhat hesitating salutation, the
colonel greeted him heartily:
“Ah! Servadac, old fellow! is it you?”
“I, myself,” said the captain.
“Where on earth have you been to all this time? In
the name of peace, what have you been doing with yourself?”
“You would never believe me, colonel,” answered
Servadac, “if I were to tell you; so on that point I had
better hold my tongue.”
“Hang your mysteries!” said the colonel; “tell me,
where have you been?”
“No, my friend, excuse me,” replied Servadac; “but
shake hands with me in earnest, that I may be sure I am
not dreaming.”
Hector Servadac had made up his mind, and no amount
of persuasion could induce him to divulge his incredible
experiences.
Anxious to turn the subject, Servadac took the earliest
opportunity of asking:
“And what about Madame de L—?”
“Madame de L—!” exclaimed the colonel, taking
the words out of his mouth; “the lady is married long
ago; you did not suppose that she was going to wait for
you. `Out of sight, out of mind,' you know.”
“True,” replied Servadac; and turning to the count,
he said;
“Do you hear that? We shall not have to fight our duel
after all.”
“Most happy to be excused,” rejoined the count.
The rivals took each other by the hand, and were united
henceforth in the bonds of a sincere and confiding friendship.
“An immense relief,” said Servadac to himself, “that
I have no occasion to finish that confounded rondo!”
It was agreed between the captain and the count that
it would be desirable in every way to maintain the most
rigid silence upon the subject of the inexplicable phenomena
which had come within their experience. It was to
them both a subject of the greatest perplexity to find that
the shores of the Mediterranean had undergone no change,
but they coincided in the opinion that it was prudent to
keep their bewilderment entirely to themselves. Nothing
induced them to break their reserve.
The very next day the small community was broken up.
The Dobryna's crew, with the count and the lieutenant,
started for Russia, and the Spaniards, provided, by the
count's liberality, with a competency that ensured them
from want, were despatched to their native shores. The
leave-taking was accompanied by genuine tokens of regard
and goodwill.
For Isaac Hakkabut alone there was no feeling of
regret. Doubly ruined by the loss of his tartan, and by
the abandonment of his fortune, he disappeared entirely
from the scene. It is needless to say that no one troubled
himself to institute a search after him, and, as Ben Zoof
sententiously remarked:
“Perhaps old Jehoram is making money in America by
exhibiting himself as the latest arrival from a comet!”
But however great was the reserve which Captain
Servadac might make on his part, nothing could induce
Professor Rosette to conceal his experiences. In spite of
the denial which astronomer after astronomer gave to the
appearance of such a comet as Gallia at all, and of its
being refused admission to the catalogue, he published a
voluminous treatise, not only detailing his own adventures,
but setting forth, with the most elaborate precision, all the
elements which settled its period and its orbit. Discussions
arose in scientific circles; an overwhelming majority
decided against the representations of the professor; an
unimportant minority declared themselves in his favour,
and a pamphlet obtained some degree of notice, ridiculing
the whole debate under the title of “The History of an
Hypothesis.” In reply to this impertinent criticism of his
labours, Rosette issued a rejoinder full with the most
vehement expressions of indignation, and reiterating his
asseveration that a fragment of Gibraltar was still traversing
the regions of space, carrying thirteen Englishmen
upon its surface, and concluding by saying that it was the
great disappointment of his life that he had not been taken
with them.
Pablo and little Nina were adopted, the one by Servadac,
the other by the count, and under the supervisivon of
their guardians, were well educated and cared for. Some
years later. Colonel, no longer Captain, Servadac, his hair
slightly streaked with grey, had the pleasure of seeing the
handsome young Spaniard united in marriage to the
Italian, now grown into a charming girl, upon whom the
count bestowed an ample dowry; the young people's
happiness in no way marred by the fact that they had not
been destined, as once seemed likely, to be the Adam and
Eve of a new world.
The career of the comet was ever a mystery which
neither Servadac nor his orderly could eliminate from
the regions of doubt. Anyhow, they were firmer and more
confiding friends than ever.
One day, in the environs of Montmartre, where they
were secure from eavesdroppers, Ben Zoof incidentally
referred to the experiences in the depths of Nina's Hive;
but stopped short and said:
“However, those things never happened, sir, did they?”
His master could only reply:
“Confound it. Ben Zoof! What is a man to believe?”

THE END