Подорож на Місяць

           Therewasanoldbushmanworkingthere,occupiedinsellingfagotsfromtreesthathadbeenleveledbyhisaxe.

           Mastonrantowardhim,saying,"Haveyouseenamangointothewood,armedwitharifle?Barbicane,thepresident,mybestfriend?"

           TheworthysecretaryoftheGunClubthoughtthathispresidentmustbeknownbyalltheworld.Butthebushmandidnotseemtounderstandhim.

           "Ahunter?"saidArdan.

           "Ahunter?Yes,"repliedthebushman.

           "Longago?"

           "Aboutanhour."

           "Toolate!"criedMaston.

           "Haveyouheardanygunshots?"askedArdan.

           "No!"

           "Notone?"

           "Notone!thathunterdidnotlookasifheknewhowtohunt!"

           "Whatistobedone?"saidMaston.

           "Wemustgointothewood,attheriskofgettingaballwhichisnotintendedforus."

           "Ah!"criedMaston,inatonewhichcouldnotbemistaken,"IwouldratherhavetwentyballsinmyownheadthanoneinBarbicane’s."

           "Forward,then,"saidArdan,pressinghiscompanion’shand.

           Afewmomentslaterthetwofriendshaddisappearedinthecopse.Itwasadensethicket,inwhichrosehugecypresses,sycamores,tulip-trees,olives,tamarinds,oaks,andmagnolias.Thesedifferenttreeshadinterwoventheirbranchesintoaninextricablemaze,throughwhichtheeyecouldnotpenetrate.MichelArdanandMastonwalkedsidebysideinsilencethroughthetallgrass,cuttingthemselvesapaththroughthestrongcreepers,castingcuriousglancesonthebushes,andmomentarilyexpectingtohearthesoundofrifles.