Everything pointed to this being a fully equipped Martian observatory,
though the instruments were entirely strange to me. I was examining
these latter more closely, when heavy portières parted, and my Martian
friend stepped into the room. So anxious was I to give him a pleasant
greeting, instead of staring at him in a semi-stupefied condition, as I
had done previously, that I forgot, for the moment, my determination to
test my diaphragm at the first opportunity, and greeted him merely with
a smile and a bow.

My serene demeanor lasted but a moment, for simultaneously with his
bowed response to my greeting, came in a clear voice, with perfect
accent: "Bon soir, Monsieur!"

I started back, for it seemed as if someone in the room had spoken, but
then I noticed that the Martian held in his hand the instrument I had
seen on the previous evening. Was it possible that this was his voice,
speaking French from a distance of millions of miles as clearly as if he
were in the room? The thing was incredible! How could a Martian know a
language evolved here on Earth? Was the whole thing then a delusion of
an overwrought mind? I stood staring at the instrument in amazement.

The Martian, now seeing by my actions that his voice had been heard,
raised his instrument and repeated his greeting. The voice rang as
clearly as before; there could be no further doubt; through this
wonderful instrument the Martian's voice was projected, almost
instantaneously to the Earth--millions of miles in a second. The
mysterious power which enabled the Martian to project the waves,
compared with our electricity as the telegraph does with the
stage-coach. Was it strange that I stood aghast, as my mind slowly
comprehended the enormous distance which that voice had traversed almost