d lamps, at eleven o'clock at night. The wind was
blowing north-north-west. The next morning, at daybreak, the
inhabitants of Rome greeted its passage over the dome of St.
Peter's. We shall go farther and higher!"

I scarcely heard him. Everything whirled around me. An opening
appeared in the clouds.

"See that city," said the unknown. "It is Spires!"

I leaned over the car and perceived a small blackish mass. It was
Spires. The Rhine, which is so large, seemed an unrolled ribbon.
The sky was a deep blue over our heads. The birds had long
abandoned us, for in that rarefied air they could not have flown.
We were alone in space, and I in presence of this unknown!

"It is useless for you to know whither I am leading you," he
said, as he threw the compass among the clouds. "Ah! a fall is a
grand thing! You know that but few victims of ballooning are to
be reckoned, from Pilatre des Rosiers to Lieutenant Gale, and
that the accidents have always been the result of imprudence.
Pilatre des Rosiers set out with Romain of Boulogne, on the 13th
of June, 1785. To his gas balloon he had affixed a Montgolfier
apparatus of hot air, so as to dispense, no doubt, with the
necessity of losing gas or throwing out ballast. It was putting a
torch under a powder-barrel. When they had ascended four hundred
yards, and were taken by opposing winds, they were driven over
the open sea. Pilatre, in order to descend, essayed to open the
valve, but the valve-cord became entangled in the balloon, and
tore it so badly that it became empty in an instant. It fell upon
the Montgolfier apparatus, overturned it, and dragged down the
unfortunates, who were soon shattered to pieces! It is frightful,
is it not?"

I could only reply, "For pity's sake, let us descend!"

The clouds gathered around us on every side, and dreadful
detonations, which reverberated in the cavity of the balloon,
took place beneath us.

"You provoke me," cried the unknown, "and you shall no longer
know whether we are rising or falling!"

The barometer went the way of the compass, accompanied by several
more bags of sand. We must have been 5000 yards high. Some
icicles had already attached themselves to the sides of the car,
and a kind of fine snow seemed to penetrate to my very bones.
Meanwhile a frightful tempest was raging under us, but we were
above it.

"Do not be afraid," said the unknown. "It is only the imprudent
who are lost. Olivari, who perished at Orleans, rose i