at each extremity of this gallery, for the moist straw
which filled it forbade them all motion. A chafing-dish with fire
was suspended below the orifice of the balloon; when the
aeronauts wished to rise, they threw straw upon this brazier, at
the risk of setting fire to the balloon, and the air, more
heated, gave it fresh ascending power. The two bold travellers
rose, on the 21st of November, 1783, from the Muette Gardens,
which the dauphin had put at their disposal. The balloon went up
majestically, passed over the Isle of Swans, crossed the Seine at
the Conference barrier, and, drifting between the dome of the
Invalides and the Military School, approached the Church of Saint
Sulpice. Then the aeronauts added to the fire, crossed the
Boulevard, and descended beyond the Enfer barrier. As it touched
the soil, the balloon collapsed, and for a few moments buried
Pilatre des Rosiers under its folds."

"Unlucky augury," I said, interested in the story, which affected
me nearly.

"An augury of the catastrophe which was later to cost this
unfortunate man his life," replied the unknown sadly. "Have you
never experienced anything like it?"

"Never,"

"Bah! Misfortunes sometimes occur unforeshadowed!" added my
companion.

He then remained silent.

Meanwhile we were advancing southward, and Frankfort had already
passed from beneath us.

"Perhaps we shall have a storm," said the young man.

"We shall descend before that," I replied.

"Indeed! It is better to ascend. We shall escape it more surely."

And two more bags of sand were hurled into space.

The balloon rose rapidly, and stopped at twelve hundred yards. I
became colder; and yet the sun's rays, falling upon the surface,
expanded the gas within, and gave it a greater ascending force.

"Fear nothing," said the unknown. "We have still three thousand
five hundred fathoms of breathing air. Besides, do not trouble
yourself about what I do."

I would have risen, but a vigorous hand held me to my seat.

"Your name?" I asked.

"My name? What matters it to you?"

"I demand your name!"

"My name is Erostratus or Empedocles, whichever you choose!"

This reply was far from reassuring.

The unknown, besides, talked with such strange coolness that I
anxiously asked myself whom I had to deal with.

"Monsieur," he continued, "nothing original has been imagined
since the physicist Charles. Four months after the discovery of
balloons, this able man had invented the