“Eh, do you not know, then, that the same thing happened to the Counts of Laurencin and Dampierre, when they ascended at Lyons, on the 15th of January, 1784? A young merchant, named Fontaine, scaled the gallery, at the risk of capsizing the machine. He accomplished the journey, and nobody died of it!” “Once on the ground, we will have an explanation,” replied I, piqued at the light tone in which he spoke. “Bah! Do not let us think of our return.” “Do you think, then, that I shall not hasten to descend?” “Descend!” said he, in surprise. “Descend? Let us begin by first ascending.” And before I could prevent it, two more bags had been thrown over the car, without even having been emptied. “Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage. [Illustration: “Monsieur!” cried I, in a rage.] “I know your ability,” replied the unknown quietly, “and your fine ascents are famous. But if Experience is the sister of Practice, she is also a cousin of Theory, and I have studied the aerial art long. It has got into my head!” he added sadly, falling into a silent reverie. The balloon, having risen some distance farther, now became stationary. The unknown consulted the barometer, and said,— “Here we are, at eight hundred yards. Men are like insects. See! I think we should always contemplate them from this height, to judge correctly of their proportions. The Place de la Comédie is transformed into an immense ant-hill. Observe the crowd which is gathered on the quays; and the mountains also get smaller and smaller. We are over the Cathedral. The Main is only a line, cutting the city in two, and the bridge seems a thread thrown between the two banks of the river.” The atmosphere became somewhat chilly. “There is nothing I would not do for you, my host,” said the unknown. “If you are cold, I will take off my coat and lend it to you.” “Thanks,” said I dryly. “Bah! Necessity makes law. Give me your hand. I am your fellow-countryman; you will learn something in my company, and my conversation will indemnify you for the trouble I have given you.” I sat down, without replying, at the opposite extremity of the car. The young man had taken a voluminous manuscript from his great-coat. It was an essay on ballooning. “I possess,” said he, “the most curious collection of engravings and caricatures extant concerning aerial manias. How people admired and scoffed at the same time at this precious discovery! We are happily no longer in the age in which Montgolfier tried to make artificial clouds with steam, or a gas having electrical properties, produced by the combustion of moist straw and chopped-up wool.” “Do you wish to depreciate the talent of the inventors?” I asked, for I had resolved to enter into the adventure. “Was it not good to have proved by experience the possibility of rising in the air?”