You have not forgotten that M. Cassier, Director of the French Pigeon Post, was with me, and that he had brought a score of pigeons with him. One of these graceful birds was charged with a message for M. Jules Favre. I had promised to inform him as well as I could of the events of our journey. The most hazardous part seemed to me to be already accomplished. This was far from being the case, as will be seen later, but that is what I thought at the moment. We had been crossing the enemy’s lines for a considerable time and our balloon had not ceased moving with very great and noticeable rapidity and without changing its direction. We therefore had reason to suppose that we were not far from those western latitudes where we were to descend. This was the sense of my message. I added a few notes on the regions we had traversed and the different altitudes to which we had attained--for it is interesting to remark that our balloon, without apparent reason, often rose to a height of two thousand yards or more, and afterwards, again without reason, fell to one hundred and fifty yards and less. When I had finished my note, I rolled up tightly the square of paper on which it had been written and tied it up. M. Cassier concealed the little roll under the pigeon’s wings by skilfully attaching it to the upper part of one of the bird’s legs. And then “_Bon voyage_ for Paris!” It was curious to see the departure of our messenger. The little bird seemed to share our own uncertainty as to the direction we were taking and did not appear to know its bearings. But its embarrassment did not last as long as ours: once it had left the balloon it flew two or three times round it, always coming back on its traces as if to find out where it was and seeking its route, and sheltering itself near us as long as it felt uncertain. But suddenly it lifted its delicate little head, gave a cry of joy, and flew off like an arrow in a straight line, without deviating or looking to the left or right. It had found its way and was going straight back to its nest in Paris. CHAPTER IV A CHANGE This was the end of the peaceful part of our voyage and the prelude of a new and more exciting phase. The wind, whistling ceaselessly, finished by somewhere picking up a few clouds which had been almost imperceptible in the four corners of the horizon. The balloon’s course began to be less regular; sometimes it jumped in a disquieting manner, and our barometer then showed variations of one thousand yards in a few minutes. Once we were even so near the earth that we were able to speak to peasants who were working in the fields. We asked them to tell us where we were, and they seemed to have understood our question, for they answered us, but we could not catch their reply.