I should have liked to start immediately, but, as he pointed out, he would have to fit the balloon up, and it was a great responsibility for him to undertake. We therefore fixed upon the following Tuesday, just a week from then. I asked M. Giffard to say nothing about it, for if the newspapers should get hold of this piece of news my terrified family would not allow me to go. M. Tissandier, who a little time after was doomed, poor fellow, to be killed in a balloon accident, promised to accompany me. Something happened, however, to prevent his going with me, and it was young Godard who the following week accompanied me in the “Dona Sol,” a beautiful orange-coloured balloon specially prepared for my expedition. Prince Jerome Napoleon (Plon-Plon), who was with me when Giffard was introduced, insisted on going with us. But he was heavy and rather clumsy, and I did not care much about his conversation, in spite of his marvellous wit, for he was spiteful, and rather delighted when he could get a chance to attack the Emperor Napoleon III., whom I liked very much. We started alone, Georges Clairin, Godard, and I. The rumour of our journey had spread, but too late for the Press to get hold of the news. I had been up in the air about five minutes when one of my friends, Comte de M——, met Perrin on the Saints-Pères Bridge. “I say,” he began, “look up in the sky. There is your star shooting away.” Perrin gazed up, and, pointing to the balloon which was rising, he asked, “Who is in that?” “Sarah Bernhardt,” replied my friend. Perrin, it appears, turned purple, and, clenching his teeth, he murmured, “That’s another of her freaks, but she will pay for this.” He hurried away without even saying good-bye to my young friend, who stood there stupefied at this unreasonable burst of anger. And if he had suspected my infinite joy at thus travelling through the air, Perrin would have suffered still more.