I immediately did so, and the gas came out of its prison whistling a mocking air. The valve was shut by order of the aeronaut, and we descended rapidly. Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of a horn. I trembled. It was Louis Godard, who had pulled out of his pocket, which was a veritable storehouse, a sort of horn on which he blew with violence. A loud whistle answered our call, and 500 metres below us we saw a man who was shouting his hardest to make us hear. As we were very close to a little station, we easily guessed that this man was the station-master. “Where are we?” cried Louis Godard through his horn. “At—in—in—ille!” answered the station-master. It was impossible to understand. “Where are we?” thundered Georges Clairin in his most formidable tones. “At—in—in—ille!” shouted the station-master, with his hand curved round his mouth. “Where are we?” cried I in my most crystalline accents. “At—in—in—ille!” answered the station-master and his porters. It was impossible to get to know anything. We had to lower the balloon. At first we descended rather too quickly, and the wind blew us towards the wood. We had to go up again. But ten minutes later we opened the valve again and made a fresh descent. The balloon was then to the right of the station, and far from the amiable station-master. “Throw out the anchor!” cried young Godard in a commanding tone. And assisted by Georges Clairin, he threw out into space another rope, to the end of which was fastened a formidable anchor. The rope was 80 metres long. Down below us a crowd of children of all ages had been running ever since we stopped above the station. When we got to about 300 metres from earth Godard called out to them, “Where are we?” “At Vachère!” None of us knew Vachère. But we descended nevertheless. “Hullo! you fellows down there, take hold of the rope that’s dragging,” cried the aeronaut, “and mind you don’t pull too hard!” Five vigorous men seized hold of the rope. We were 130 metres from the ground, and the sight was becoming interesting. Darkness began to blot out everything. I raised my head to see the sky, but I remained with my mouth open with astonishment. I saw only the lower end of our balloon, which was overhanging its base, all loose and baggy. It was very ugly. We anchored gently, without the little dragging which I had hoped would happen, and without the little drama which I had half expected. It began to rain in torrents as we left the balloon. The young owner of a neighbouring château ran up, like the peasants, to see what was going on. He offered me his umbrella. “Oh, I am so thin I cannot get wet. I pass between the drops.” The saying was repeated and had a great success. “What time is there a train?” asked Godard. “Oh, you have plenty of time,” answered an oily and heavy voice. “You cannot leave before ten o’clock, as the station is a long way from here, and in such weather it will take Madame two hours to walk there.”