While I was enjoying the pure air I looked for the medium of its introduction, and was not long in discovering it. Over the door was an aperture, through which the fresh air entered and renovated the vitiated atmosphere of the cabin.
I had got so far in my observations when Ned and Conseil woke almost at the same moment, under the influence of the fresh air. After sundry rubbings of the eyes and stretchings of the arms they got upon their feet.
“Has Monsieur slept well?” inquired Conseil, with his usual politeness.
“Very well indeed,” I replied. “And you, Master Land?”
“Soundly,” was the answer. “But—perhaps I am mistaken—I fancy I can detect the smell of the sea.”
A sailor could make no mistake on this point, and I told the Canadian what had passed.
“That explains the roarings we heard when the supposed narwhal was near the Abraham Lincoln,” said Ned.
“Quite so, Ned, that was its breathing.”
“Only, M. Aronnax, I have no notion what time it is, unless it is dinner-time.”
“Dinner-time, my worthy harpooner? say rather breakfast-time, for we are certainly in another day.”
“Which shows that we have slept for twenty-four hours!”
“That is my opinion,” I replied.
“I will not contradict you,” replied Ned Land.
