It was a scene beyond all words. Presently a monstrous elephant formed itself before our eyes. We entered into the very midst of it, and were blinded by the cold and damp vapour--a singular and awful cloud, whence we emerged but to plunge again into others more awful still; now a furious sea, now a group of hideous phantoms, now long, luminous tracts, glittering like streams of silver in the ghostly white light. "This is not so pleasant," my brother-in-law murmured. "Why not descend?" The billows of cloud piled together, terribly agitated. Above us, below us and about us, all was stirred to fury. My agitation was great; for of all these circumstances the silence, the absolute silence, was the most terrible. Amid all the shocks of the cloud-masses, amid all the rages of the hideous gigantic phantoms, of those fearful forces that might at any moment crush us in a clap of thunder, not a sound, even of the faintest, was heard. The balloon glided through the enervating, cloud-filled heavens steadily and proudly, and soon we were free of the mists, and sailing serenely under the deep blue sky in the pale light of the moon. [Illustration: "A SINGULAR AND AWFUL CLOUD."] "I like this better," said Ernest, and we agreed with him. We gazed at the white plain of rolling clouds below us. What was that--the little ball that ran so quickly along the furrowed white spaces? The little ball edged with an aureole of tender colours? "That?" answered Godard. "That is we ourselves--the balloon, or rather its shadow. What do you think of its rate of travelling, Madame Flammarion--you who imagine that we are not moving at all?" Truly, it was our own shadow, swiftly skimming the clouds below, a curious and charming sight. And now we saw the first signs of dawn. The balloon sank and sank, and soon we were skimming above meadows scented with a thousand perfumes. To us it seemed that we must touch the trees every moment, so nearly did we approach the earth. But, as a matter of fact, we were still a hundred mètres from the ground. Again it was a delightful experience, thus to skim above the earth in the silent, starry morning, without a breath of air that we could feel. The plains, the hills, the rivulets passed before us as in a dream. It was communion with Nature indeed. "Now," said Godard, suddenly, "we are ascending, and quickly." And, indeed, as he spoke we shot upwards, and in a moment were again among the clouds. In the distance we observed a peculiar light. Was it a lighthouse? No, we were far from the sea. Reassured on this point, we are soon uneasy in regard to another, for presently we saw that lightning-flashes were traversing the clouds. "It is a storm," Godard observed, "and it will be a bad one." "Then we will throw out ballast and avoid it," said my husband.