“I hear exclamations and voices near me. My companions are evidently agitated, and with good reason, too; for the lights which we could see a long way below us approach with terrible rapidity. We reached the earth rather quicker than we left it. “Suddenly we feel a dreadful shock, followed by ominous crackings. The car has grounded. The ‘Geant’ has made its descent. But in what part of the habitable globe, and under what zone? At Meaux!” To employ an expression of M. Nadar’s it seems that these gentlemen never before experienced such a “knock-down blow.” After all these preparations, all this trouble, all the energy employed in the undertaking--sufficient, indeed, wherewith to attempt to cross the Atlantic--to “descend at Meaux!” The ‘Geant,’ however, had its revenge. Its second ascent gave it this revenge. We shall be as brief as possible in relating this voyage; but the details are all so very interesting that we regret extremely our being unable to give more than extracts from the narrative. Our travellers committed themselves again to the mercy of the air. The Emperor, following the example of a former King of France, took considerable interest in the construction of this aerial monster, and wished the aeronaut “Bon voyage” at starting. The passengers endeavoured to pass the night as comfortably as possible, having first instituted a four hours’ watch, as on board ship. The aerial vessel glided rapidly through the air. “We repeatedly,” said Nadar, “passed over some manufacturing centre, whose lights were not yet extinguished. I either hailed them with my speaking-trumpet or rang our two bells. Sometimes we received a reply from below, in the shape of a shout, for, although we still had no moon, the night was occasionally clear enough for people to distinguish us; and sometimes we heard a peal of laughter from out of the atmosphere in which we were travelling. It was another party of aeronauts in a smaller balloon, who left at the same time as we did, and who would persist in keeping the ‘Geant’ company. We are passing over a small town; we hear the usual shouting and the report of a gun. Our first thoughts are--Was it loaded with shot or ball? The inhuman brute who fired will say, ‘Certainly not;’ but as balloons have often been damaged in this way, we may be confident there was more than powder in this one. It would be satisfactory, at any rate, if the name of the person could be ascertained who favoured us with this welcome. But it is rather late to make inquiries on this subject. It was between a quarter and half-past nine o’clock when this occurred. ‘The sea!’ cried Jules; ‘look at the revolving lights of the lighthouses. There: one has just disappeared: it will flash out again in a moment!’ But what is this? Before us, as far as our eyes can reach, we distinguish faint lights, which in this case are neither lamps nor torches. As we continue to draw nearer we get a better view of these numerous, violent, and smoking furnaces.