Tuesday should have brought ideal conditions and performances; for it was the day set for the visit of M. Falliéres, President of France. But the morning was dark, with ominous clouds gathering over the aërodrome, and black flags streaming in the strong wind. When the President arrived, though the clock told four, no flying had yet begun. He examined the machines, held an informal reception, and at five took his box in the grand stand. Presently Bunau-Varilla in his Voisin biplane, rocking in the fifteen-mile wind, flew past, waving his hat to the distinguished spectators. After him came dauntless young Paulhan who also passed the President, shortly before the latter, with his party, returned to the railway station. He flew at an elevation of 300 to 500 feet, his Voisin heaving and lurching in the tumultuous wind, like a boat on the breakers. He had no lateral stabilizing plane, so he let his box kite rock. The people were appalled, but what cared he for wind gusts, so far from earth? Let the craft roll and pitch; he was not uneasy. On the return lap he raced and beat a railway train. These were but inklings of what he would do with increased experience. Latham followed presently on his long swift monoplane, to the delight of all who love the graceful in mechanism and motion. Ere long he was chased and overhauled by Blériot, in his cross-Channel flyer. This was exciting, but Blériot produced still greater enthusiasm by beating the speed record, lowering it to 8 minutes, 4⅖ seconds, for one round of the 10-kilometer (6.21 mile) course. The day was ended, and the spectators were charmed again by the spectacular evolutions of Lefebvre, who cavorted in the air before the grand stand, cutting impressive curves and figure “8’s.”