"See here, my good fellow, you've got plenty of cheek to be bothering me with your confounded ridiculous questions; and so I'll answer you once for all. What you see tied fast there is called a balloon, and it's only a French method of drawing Englishmen's teeth." He left me--I trust not in anger; but that was the last I saw of the Yorkshireman. We got off, (M. GODARD and I) about four o'clock P.M., and ascended steadily till Paris, with its rim of fortifications, looked more like the crater of a volcano than anything else. I brought out my opera-glass as we moved in the direction of Versailles, and reconnoitred the situation. In a field adjoining the palace I saw an object that looked like a post driven into the ground, and capped with a large-sized clam-shell. GODARD levelled his glass and examined it. His lip curled proudly with scorn as he said:-- "That is the butcher himself, WILLIAM of Prussia. The clam-like appearance you notice is due to the baldness of his head." I only said: "Can it be possible?" and we moved on. How my blood throbbed as we cavorted through the blue depths of heaven! I was far from feeling blue myself, and GODARD said that if anything I was green. The bearings of the remark did not strike me at the time, as a cannon-ball from the direction of Versailles whirled within twenty feet of the balloon and lifted the right flank (a military expression) of my moustache into your subscriber's eye, notwithstanding it was waxed with LOUVET'S best, warranted to keep each hair _en règle_, even in the worst gales. From that moment I renounced LOUVET. Following the cannon-shot came a miscellaneous assortment of small projectiles, which had the effect of creating some excitement among the atmospheric _animalculae_, but failed to disturb the serenity of M. GODARD or myself. When about ten miles from Blois I detected what I supposed was a large vein of chalk-pits. It was very white, and apparently motionless. My companion expressed his surprise at the difficulty I had in distinguishing objects correctly, and seemed to lose patience. "_Bigarre_, you no know zat? It ees ze dirty Proosien linen vashed out, and hoong zere to dry!" I told him in Arabic that he needn't get his back up; but he understood me not, and continued playing with the cats which we were transporting to Tours to protect the Commissary stores from the ravages of the rats that the Prussians had despatched to eat up the provisions of the garrison. Towards night I began to have a queer sensation in the stomach. It wasn't like sea-sickness, nor like the feeling produced by swinging. If a man just recovering from the effects of his first cigar were offered a bowl of hot goose-grease for supper, I suppose he would have felt as I felt. At the moment a queer twinge took me; I ejaculated: "Oh! Lord!" "Vat ees de matter?" inquired GODARD. If the man had had any other nationality, I might have talked sense to him; but he was a Frenchman, so I said:-- "Do you love me?"