Chapter 10 chapter Ten

When people usually talk, they often say: "Oh, that guy Zephyrán Siddall!..." Indeed, Zephyrán Siddell is a different character no matter in body or mind. His slender figure seemed to fall apart, his shirts often had no collars and never cuffs, his trousers were wrinkled like a screwdriver, two of the three buttons on his vest were missing, his coat was baggy, and his pockets were bulging. Full of knickknacks, filthy attire from head to toe, which he haphazardly picked out of his messy pile of clothes, such was Zephyrán Sidar's appearance , This is what he understood as elegance.

He had sloping shoulders like a cellar-roof, ending with two ape arms, and a pair of large, hairy, yet amazingly dexterous hands, whose owner did not know how often they touched the soap. If his head is the same as everyone else's, growing on the highest part of the body, it's because he couldn't change the way of growing it.But the odd man made up for it himself, offering a hideously ugly face for all to admire.Nothing could be more "remarkable" than his wrinkled, terribly incongruous face: a heavy square jaw, thick lips, a large mouth full of excellent teeth, a large flat nose, no The well-curled ears, and the turning of the head, as if in disgust, to avoid contact with it, all recalled only very indirectly the handsome Andinus.On the contrary, the admirable forehead, high and noblely lined, sits on this strange face like a temple on a hill, a god capable of housing the most sublime thoughts. temple.Finally, in order to completely confuse those who saw him, Zephyrán Sidal opened a pair of large eyes exposed to the sun under this broad forehead, which sometimes showed a very intelligent look, From time to time, he showed an extremely stupid look.

In spirit, he also formed a sharp contrast with the mediocrity of his contemporaries. He opposed all formal education from an early age, declaring self-education, and his parents had to give in to his unruly will.Overall, the results of this aren't too bad for them.At an age when others were still sitting on high school benches, Zephyrán Siddhar had already taken the exams of all the famous universities--in his own words, they were just for fun--and always got the first place. one. But these achievements are forgotten as soon as they are achieved.Because the winner always forgot to report to the school when the semester started, those prestigious universities had to keep crossing his name off the rolls.

At the age of eighteen, the death of his parents gave him complete freedom of action and an income of fifteen thousand francs annuity.Hastily signing the papers required of him by his godfather and guardian, the banker Robert Legere ("Uncle" as Siddall used to call him in his childhood), and getting rid of all suspense, he set off at I lived in two small rooms on the seventh floor of a house in Rue Casset, Paris. At the age of thirty-one, he still lived there. The place hadn't grown since he settled there, but what had piled up there was astonishing.One can see there a jumble of machines, batteries, electric motors, optics, retorts, and a hundred other miscellaneous instruments.Piles of pamphlets, books, and papers piled up from the floor to the ceiling, and also piled on the table and the only chair, raising both of them so that when our strange man sits on the chair and writes, Didn't notice this change.And, when he finds them too in the way, he can eliminate the inconvenience without much effort.With a wave of his hand, he threw a few stacks of papers across the room, so he felt that the world was at peace, and he sat down at the neatly tidy desk and started working, because there was nothing on the desk.But just because the place is vacant, it is ready to pile up on it in the future.

What the hell is Zephyran Siddharth doing? It must be admitted that, generally speaking, he was merely brooding in the smoke of his inextinguishable pipe.But every once in a while, of varying lengths, he would come up with an idea.On such days he cleared the table in his own way, that is to say, with a blow of his fist, and sat down at the table, whether the work took forty minutes or forty hours. Don't leave the table until you're done.After writing the last sentence, he threw the paper with the research results on the table, and a new pile of papers began to pile up on the table.It will be swept away like the previous pile of papers only when he musters up new energy to work.

These successive and irregular work enthusiasms brought him some contact with various problems: calculus, physics, chemistry, biology, philosophy, pure science and applied science have all attracted him. attention.No matter what the problem, he always lashed out with the same frenzy until it was solved, unless... Unless another thought distracted him.Perhaps the fanciful man will be fascinated by the color of another butterfly in the field of fantasy, so he will chase the second butterfly.When he was intoxicated by his second dream, he would forget all his previous work. But this is only temporarily put on hold.Maybe one day, he'll stumble across the work he left unfinished, and hit it off with renewed enthusiasm.Even after two or three such interruptions, he could always reach a conclusion at last.

How many clever insights, how many conclusive remarks on the most difficult subjects of the psychic and experimental sciences, how many practical Invention!He never wanted to seek any benefits from this treasure house.Unless one of his few friends complained to him that his research—whatever it was—was fruitless. At such times, Siddhar would say, "Wait a minute, I probably have something about this." At the same time, he stretched out his arm, and with a wonderful sense of smell, he immediately found the one related to his friend's question from among thousands of papers that were more or less crumpled, and put this scientific document Give it to his friend and allow him to use it without any restrictions.It never once occurred to him that doing so was against his own interests.

money?What's the use of that?When he needed money, he turned to his godfather, Mr. Robert Legere.Mr Legere was no longer his guardian, but still his banker.Every time Siddhar returned from him, he brought back a sum of money.When he had spent all his money, he would go to Mr. Legere again.Siddall had lived in this way with complete satisfaction since he came to Cassette Street.It is certainly a kind of happiness, but it is not the only happiness, that a person has desires that are constantly generated and can be realized one by one.Zephyrán Sidar had no such desires, but he was perfectly happy.

On the morning of May 10th, the lucky man was sitting comfortably in his only chair, with his feet resting on the window sill, a few centimeters above his head, with a particularly lovable pipe, and amused by puzzles and word puzzles printed on a paper bag that the grocer gave him as a gift when he delivered groceries.Once this important work is done and the answer is found, the paper bag is thrown into the pile of paper.Then, his left hand casually reached for the table again, subconsciously wanting to grab something, anything. This left hand came across a bundle of unopened newspapers, and Zephyrán Sidal took one out of it as if by luck. It was a week-old "Daily".For a reader who lives outside of time and space, even such stale news matters little.

So, his eyes turned to the first page, of course, he didn't read anything.In this way he went through the second page and the others until the last page.On this page, he's much more interested in advertising.Then, confusedly, he turned back to the first page, thinking that he had turned to the next page. His eyes accidentally landed on the beginning of the headlines, and it wasn't until then that the giant pupils that looked stupid were gleam of wisdom. The further you read, the brighter the light becomes, and by the time you finish reading, it has become a flame. "Look! . . . Look! . . . Look! . . . . " Zephyrin Siddhar murmured in three different tones, and began to read again.

Talking loudly in the solitude of his room was a habit of his.He even liked to speak in the plural, presumably to give himself the pleasant illusion that there was an audience listening to his speeches engrossed in him, and this imaginary audience was of course numerous, since they, including Siddharth, never had All the students, friends and admirers that I have and never will have. This time, he was less talkative, and just let out three exclamations. The article in the Daily Gazette fascinated him strongly, and he read it in silence. What was he reading with such relish? In fact, he is just the last one in the whole world who knows that there is such a Weston bolide. It is only by chance that he read this article about the fabulous golden ball, and thus knows the uniqueness of the Weston bolide. composition. "That's really strange! . . . " he said to himself after reading it a second time. He pondered for a moment, then took his foot off the ledge and approached the table. Another burst of enthusiasm for work is undoubtedly about to explode. Without hesitation, he found a science magazine from the pile of magazines, tore off the tape, and turned to the page he was looking for. A science journal has the right to be more technical than a broadsheet, and this magazine is no exception.Pages of esoteric curves and algebraic operations precede a few sentences of basic bolide data: orbit, velocity, mass, volume, and properties. Zephyran Siddhar had eaten through this indigestible spiritual food without any effort, and then he glanced up at the sky and saw that there was not a cloud in the blue sky. "Let's take a closer look! . . . " he murmured, counting quickly with impatient hands. Having done this, he stretched his arm under a pile of papers in a corner.With a movement of such high precision that only long practice can achieve, the pile of papers was flung across the room. "It's amazing how organized I am!" he said with evident satisfaction when he saw his "cleaning up" had the desired effect and a telescope appeared.The telescope was covered with dust, like a bottle that had been placed for hundreds of years. In an instant, he brought the telescope to the window, pointed it at the point in the sky that he had just calculated, and brought his eyes to the eyepiece. "Absolutely accurate," he said after observing for a few minutes. He thought for a few more minutes.Then thoughtfully picked up his hat and walked down his seven floors.Then he walked towards the Legere Bank in Drout Street.The whole street is rightfully proud of this bank. Zephyrán Siddhar knew only one way to travel, never by car, tram or horse-drawn carriage, no matter how far the destination was, he always went there on foot. But even in this most natural and common sport, he always behaved differently.With his head down and his shoulders twisting from side to side, he walked in the city as if in the desert.He ignored vehicles and pedestrians as if nothing had happened.Therefore, those pedestrians who were bumped by him or stepped on their toes a little too informally all cursed "rough!" "Uneducated!" Wild fellow! "Those coachmen who were afraid to provide materials for the miscellaneous news column of the newspaper-and Zephyrán Siddhar might play the role of the victim in a certain miscellaneous news-and had to brake suddenly, used their melodious How many more forceful curses had the voice shouted at him! He paid no attention to any of this.Like the ripples behind a ship, a symphony of curses sounded behind him, while he continued to walk with unhurried, determined strides. In twenty minutes he was at the Legere Bank in Drout Street. "Is my uncle there?" he asked a civil servant who stood up when he approached. "Yes, Mr. Siddall." "Is he alone?" "yes." Siddall pushed open the padded door and entered the banker's office. "Oh! . . . Is that you?" Mr. Legere asked mechanically when he saw the false nephew appear before him. "Since I am standing here with flesh and blood," Siddhar replied, "then I dare say that your question is just for nothing, and the answer is superfluous." Mr. Legere smiled sincerely, accustomed to the eccentricities of his godson.He thought it was a mentally unbalanced, but in some ways a genius.He was right. "That's all right," he admitted, "but wouldn't it be easier to just answer me with a straight 'yes'. So, do I have a right to ask you what you're here for?" "You have the right. Because..." "Needless to say!" interrupted Mr. Legere, "my second question, like the first, is superfluous, and experience has taught me that I can only see you when you want money. .” "Yes!" said Zephyrán Sidal, "are you not my banker?" "That's all very well," agreed Mr. Legere, "but you are a curious customer! Will you allow me to make you a suggestion in this matter, then?" "If this pleases you..." "I advise you not to be so frugal! What the hell, my dear boy, what have you spent your youth on? Do you know what your account is in my bank?" "Nothing." "It's simple. Your account is terrible. What's the matter! Your parents have left you an annuity of more than fifteen thousand francs, and you can't even spend four thousand." "Oh!..." Siddall said, he was still very surprised at this situation that he had heard twenty times at least. "That's the way it is. So you're saving more and more interest. I don't know how much you have now, but it must be more than a hundred thousand francs. Where is the money going?" "I'll study that." Zephyrin Siddall said gravely, "Besides, if the money bothers you, just throw it away." "How did it fall?" "Giving it to others, it couldn't be easier." "to whom?" "Anyone, what do you want me to do with it?" Mr. Legere shrugged his shoulders. "So how much do you want today?" he asked. "Two hundred francs, is it the same as before?" "Ten thousand francs." "Ten thousand francs!" repeated M. Legere with great astonishment. "That's a novelty! What do you want to do with those ten thousand francs?" "travel." "Brilliant. Where are you going?" "I don't know," Zephyran Siddhar said. Mr. Legere was amused, and he surveyed his godson-customer slyly. "That's a nice place," he said earnestly. "It's ten thousand francs. Do you want that?" "I still need a piece of land." Zephyran Sidar replied. "A piece of land?" repeated Mr. Legere, becoming more bewildered as the saying goes. "Where?" "An ordinary piece of land. Say, two or three square kilometers." "A small piece of land," said Mr. Legere coldly, and he asked mockingly: "Is it in the Rue Italiane?" "No," replied Zephyrin Sidal, "not in France." "Where is that? Tell me." "I don't know," Zephyrán Siddhar repeated impassively.Mr. Legere managed to suppress a laugh. "That's a choice," he agreed. "But tell me, dear Zephyrán, are you a little... crazy? What do you mean by all this?" "I'm going to do a business," Zephyrán said, his brow lined with thought. "A deal! . . . " exclaimed Mr. Legere, utterly astonished. It is indeed surprising that this monster would want to do business. "Yes." Siddall said. "Big deal?" "No..." said Zephyrin Siddall, "only five or six trillion francs." This time, Mr. Legere looked at his godson with serious concern.If he wasn't joking, he would be crazy, really crazy. "You mean..." he asked. "Five or six trillion francs," repeated Zephyrin Siddall in a calm voice. "Are you in your right mind, Zephyrin?" Mr. Legere asked again. "Do you know that all the gold on earth is less than one per cent of this astonishing figure?" "That might be true on Earth," said Siddall, "elsewhere, it's a different story." "elsewhere?" "Yes, the vertical distance from here is four hundred kilometers." A flash of light passed Mr. Legere's mind.He, like all men on earth, had been well informed by the newspapers' long-running chatter on the same subject.He felt that he understood the meaning of this sentence.He did guess right, too. "Is it a Bolide?..." He stammered, his face turning pale. "It's Bolide." Siddhar agreed peacefully. If someone else, not his godson, had said such things to Mr. Legere, he would have thrown him out of the house immediately.A banker's time is too precious to spend listening to the nonsense of lunatics.But Zephyrán Sidar is different from everyone.There is something wrong with his brain, alas!This is true.However, in this defective head there is a genius brain, for this brain, there is nothing inherently unattainable in the world. "You want to develop that shooting star?" said Mr. Legere, staring at his godson face to face. "What's wrong? What's so great about it?" "But you just said that this meteor is four hundred kilometers from the ground. I don't think you think you can climb there if you have the ability?" "If I can make it fall, what's the point of doing it?" "How?" "I found it. That's enough." "You have found it!... You have found a way!... How do you act on such a distant celestial body? Where do you put the fulcrum? What force do you use?" "It would take too much time to explain it all to you," said Zephyrán Sidal, "and it's useless: you won't understand." "You are very kind," thanked Mr. Legere, without anger. However, after his repeated requests, his godson finally agreed to give him some brief explanations.The narrator of this curious tale, here abridges these brief explanations, and points out that, although the banker's taste for ventures is well known, at this time he has nothing to do with Siddall's scheme. Interesting, but perhaps too bold theoretical statement. Zephyrán Siddhar believes that matter is only a superficial phenomenon, but it does not actually exist.He wanted to prove it by the fact that people are incapable of imagining the internal structure of matter.One can divide matter into molecules, atoms, and even elementary particles, but there is always a certain part left; for it, one has to ask the whole question again, so one has to start from the beginning again, and this goes on endlessly. , until people finally accept such a primary element.This element is not matter, and this non-material element is energy. What could it be?Zephyran Siddhar admits he knows nothing.Since human beings can only keep in touch with the outside world through the senses, and human senses can only receive stimulation from material things, all things that are not material things cannot be felt or understood by human beings.If man can admit the existence of an immaterial world through the efforts of pure reason, then because he cannot compare, he cannot understand the essence of this immaterial world.This will always be the case as long as humans do not multiply new senses. Whatever it is about this, according to Zephyrán Siddhar, energy fills the universe and oscillates between two extremes.The two extremes are: absolute balance - which can only be achieved if the energy is evenly distributed throughout the universe; absolute concentration - where all energy is concentrated at one point, which in this case is surrounded by a A complete vacuum.Since the universe is infinite, neither of these extremes is possible.As a result, the inner energy is in a state of perpetual "release".All objects are constantly absorbing energy, and the concentration of this energy must cause a relative vacuum elsewhere.So on the other hand, matter releases the energy it imprisoned into the cosmic space. Therefore, contrary to the classic axiom "any matter is neither produced nor destroyed", Zephyrán Siddhar proposed that "any matter can be produced and can also be destroyed".Matter is constantly being destroyed and re-formed.Every change of state is accompanied by the release of energy and the destruction of corresponding matter. If our instruments are unable to confirm this destruction, it is because they are too imperfect, and enormous energy is contained in fragments too small to estimate, thus (according to Zephyrán Sidar) this explains Why is the distance between the stars so inconceivably large compared to their finite size. This destruction does not exist because it is unproven.Sound, light, electricity, and heat indirectly prove its existence.These phenomena are the released substances.It is through them that the release of energy is manifested, though only in a crude, semi-physical form.Pure energy can be said to be a sublimation, which exists only outside the physical world.It forms a "force layer" that wraps around each object, and its strength is proportional to the volume of the object, and the greater the distance from the surface of the object, the smaller the strength.This manifestation of energy, this tendency towards constant concentration of energy, is gravitation. This was the theory Zephyrin Siddall told the somewhat stunned Mr. Legere.Admittedly, people tend to be dumbfounded by smaller things. "That being the case," concluded Zephyrán Siddall, as if he had just made some simplest suggestion, "I only need to release a little energy and direct it to a suitable place in the universe so that I can exert any influence on a nearby celestial body, which is not large, but also has extremely high energy. It is a bit like a child's play." "Is there a way you can unleash this energy?" Legere asked. "I have a way to open a channel for it, to push away anything that is material, which is the same as releasing energy and directing it to a certain point." "In that case," exclaimed Mr. Legere, "you will disturb the whole celestial structure!" Zephyrán Sidal did not seem surprised at this outlandish hypothesis. "At present, the machine I have built can only produce a much smaller effect." He admitted humbly and simply, "However, it is enough to affect a broken meteor weighing several thousand tons." "I hope so!" concluded Mr. Legere, who was beginning to be impressed. "But your shooting star, where are you going to let it fall?" "Fall in my field." "Where?" "When I have made the necessary calculations, you will buy the land for me. I will write to you about it. Of course, if possible, I will choose a deserted area where the land is not worth much. You may encounter some difficulties when selling the deed. Because I am not completely free to choose, maybe the place I choose is not very good." "That's my business," said the banker. "That's what the telegraph was invented for. I'm in charge of it." Having secured this assurance, Zephyrin Siddall bundled up the ten thousand francs in his pocket, and strode home again as he had come.As soon as he closed the door, he cleaned the table with the back of his hand in the customary way, and sat down. His work ethic must be at an all-time high again. All night, he calculated desperately, and in the morning, the answer came out.He determined the magnitude, timing, and proper direction of the force that should be applied to the meteor, and he also determined when and where the meteor would fall. Immediately he seized his pen, wrote the pre-scheduled letter to Mr. Legere, went downstairs to drop the letter in the post-box, and went upstairs again to shut himself up at home. He closed the door and walked to a corner of the room.The day before he threw the pile of papers covering the astronomical telescope here so accurately and brilliantly, but today, what he had to do was the opposite operation.Siddhar copied his hand under the pile of papers, and with this sure hand, sent it back to its original place. As a result of the second "packing up", a blackened box was exposed to the sky.Zephyran Siddhar picked it up without difficulty, moved it to the middle of the room, and aimed it at the window. There is nothing special about the appearance of the box, it is a wooden square box painted in a dark color.It was full of coils, sandwiched between a set of glass bulbs; the tips of the bulbs were joined two by two with copper wires; the copper wires were thinner in each pair.On the top of the box is a metal reflector mounted on a fulcrum.The reflector was uncovered, and at the focal point of the mirror was a spindle-shaped bulb, without wires of any substance connecting it to other glass bulbs. With the aid of precision instruments Zephyran Siddhar aimed the mirror in the direction he had calculated the night before.Then, having examined it, and seeing that all was well, he put a little gleaming tube into the lower part of the box.As he worked, he spoke according to his custom, as if he wanted a large audience to admire his eloquence. "Gentlemen, this is the element Siddal, which is a hundred thousand times more radioactive than radium. I admit--this is only between you and me--that I use this element more or less out of curiosity. Show off. The element is not harmful, but the earth already radiates too much energy, plus this is a bit redundant. It's like a drop in the ocean. However, I feel that in an experiment of this nature, let it perform on stage , and there is nothing wrong with it." As he spoke, he closed the case and connected the two wires protruding from the case to the terminals of a battery resting on a shelf. "The neutron vortex, gentlemen," he went on, "repels all objects without exception, whether they are positively or negatively charged, since it is itself neutral. On the other hand, since it is Whirlpool, then it has the form of a whirlpool, which even a child can understand. I would have thought to find these things, what a stroke of luck... How useful everything is in life!" The current loop is connected.There was a slight humming in the box, and the glass bulb on the pivot cast a pale blue light.Almost immediately the bulb began a spinning motion, slowly at first, then accelerated by the second, and in a few moments was dizzyingly fast. Zephyrán Siddall looked for a moment at the glass bulbs dancing a wild waltz.Then his gaze disappeared into the depths of the universe along a direction parallel to the axis of the mirror. At first glance, there appears to be no physical sign of what the machine does.But a careful observer will notice a strange phenomenon although it is not conspicuous.The dust suspended in the air, as soon as it touches the edge of the metal reflector, seems to be unable to cross the boundary, or it seems to have encountered an invisible obstacle, and violently rotates.The dust encloses a truncated cone, the base of which falls on the circumference of the mirror.This truncated cone of impalpable, swirling particles gradually becomes a cylinder several hundred centimeters in diameter at a distance of two or three meters from the machine.This cylinder of dust still existed to the point of air circulation outside the window, and although there was a fairly moderate wind that day, it stretched to an unseen distance. "Gentlemen, I have the honor to inform you that all is well," Siddall said, sitting down in the only chair and lighting his carefully filled pipe. After half an hour, he turned off the machine.On this day and the next few days, he operated it several times a day, each time paying attention to aiming the reflector at another nearby point in the sky.He did it for nineteen days with absolute precision. On the twentieth day, as soon as he turned on the machine and lit his faithful pipe, the devil of invention took possession of his brain again.A certain consequence of the theory of the perpetual annihilation of matter which he had sketched for Mr. Robert Legere now entered his thoughts and dazzled him.As usual, he immediately figured out how a self-recharging battery would work.The battery is charged by successive reactions, the last of which returns the decomposed material to its original state.Such a battery can obviously work until the substances used completely disappear and are all converted into energy.This is actually a kind of perpetual motion machine. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Zephyrán Sidal stammered in great excitement. He thinks in his own way, which means focusing all his life force on one point at once.Such concentrated thoughts are really like a brilliant paintbrush that gathers all the sunlight, pointing to the dark corners of the problem. "No objection," he said aloud at last with the result of his thinking. "Tests must be carried out immediately." Zephyrán Sidal grabbed his hat and rushed down the seventh floor to a small carpenter's workshop across the road.He succinctly explained to the joiner what he wanted: to install a wheel on an iron shaft, and around the wheel to install twenty-seven buckets of the size he specified to hold twenty-seven large-mouth bottles. The jar should remain vertical as the wheel turns. After this explanation, he asked to start working immediately, and walked another five hundred meters to a chemical products store, where he was a regular customer.There he selected twenty-seven jars.The clerk wrapped the bottle in a piece of thick paper and tied it with a strong rope, and hooked a comfortable wooden handle to the rope. After packing, Zefelan Siddhar was about to go home with the paper bag, but bumped into one of his few friends at the door.This is a bacteriologist with real talents.Siddhar was immersed in his dream, did not see the bacteriologist, but the bacteriologist saw him. "Look, Siddharth!" he exclaimed, smiling enthusiastically with his mouth half-opened. "What a coincidence!" Hearing this familiar voice, the one who had been called indifferently opened his round eyes to the outside world. "Look!" he said echoing, "Marcelle Leroux!" "It's me." "How are you? . . . You know, I'm glad to see you." "I'm fine. Can a man who's about to take a train be okay? As you can see, I've got three handkerchiefs and a few toilet things in my satchel, and I'm off to the sea to take a breather." Fresh air for the week." "What a lucky one!" said Siddall. "You can do the same, it's all up to you. We'll squeeze together, and we'll both fit in the train." "It's true! . . . " said Zephyrán Sidar. "At least you have nothing you can't do without in Paris?" "No." "You don't have any important business?... Are you doing some experiments?..." Siddhar searched his memory sincerely and replied, "There is nothing at all." "In that case, go ahead. You'll do yourself a favor by having a week off. And we'll have a lot of fun on the beach!" "Furthermore," interrupted Siddall, "I shall have the opportunity to clear up a problem concerning the tides which bothers me. There are aspects of this problem which are quite different from some of the general problems which I have studied. It does. That's what I was thinking when I met you," he said with touching sincerity. "Then you agree." "agreed." "Then let's go! But I remembered, I should go to your house first, but I don't know if it's time to drive..." "No need," Siddhar replied confidently, "I have everything in here." This Ma Daha pointed to the paper bag containing twenty-seven jars with his eyes. "Excellent!" Marcelle Leroux said happily. The two friends strode toward the train station. "You know, my dear Leroux, I assume surface tension..." A couple approaching, separating the two interlocutors, their words drowned out by the noise of vehicles.This did not bother Zephyrán Siddhar, and he went on explaining it to one passerby and then to another, to the astonishment of those passers-by.这个演说家却没有发现，仍然一面滔滔不绝地讲着，一面在巴黎这个海洋的人流中破浪前进。 正当西达尔又被新的爱好所激动，大步走向火车将要远离这个城市的时候，在卡赛特街的一个七楼上的房间里，有一个发黑的、貌不惊人的木箱，却一直发出不引人注意的嗡嗡声；一个金属的反射镜始终射出浅蓝的光线；那旋转着的灰尘围成的圆柱，笔直的、脆弱的圆柱，刺进了还是未知之物的太空。 泽费兰·西达尔忘了关掉机器，而现在连他有这么一个机器也忘了，于是这台被人听任自流的机器便盲目地继续干着它那默默无闻的、神秘的工作。