A cluster of houses, a huge castle, towers, steeples:  Angers....

Don Luis asked Davanne the time.  It was ten minutes to twelve.

Already Angers was a vanished vision.  Once more the open country, broken up with many-coloured fields.  Through it all, a road.

And, on that road, a yellow motor.

The yellow motor!  The brute’s motor!  The motor with Florence Levasseur!

Don Luis’s joy contained no surprise.  He knew so well that this was bound to happen!

Davanne turned round and cried: 

“That’s the one, isn’t it?”

“Yes, go straight for them.”

The airship dipped through space and caught up the car almost at once.  Then Davanne slowed his engine and kept at six hundred feet above the car and a little way behind.

From here they made out all the details.  The driver was seated on the left.  He wore a gray cap with a black peak.  It was one of the deep-yellow taxis of the Compagnie des Cometes.  It was the taxi which they were pursuing.  And Florence was inside with her abductor.

“At last,” thought Don Luis, “I have them!”

They flew for some time, keeping the same distance.

Davanne waited for a signal which Don Luis was in no hurry to give.  He was revelling in the sensation of his power, with a force made up of mingled pride, hatred, and cruelty.  He was indeed the eagle hovering overhead with its talons itching to rend live flesh.  Escaped from the cage in which he had been imprisoned, released from the bonds that fastened him, he had come all the way at full flight and was ready to swoop upon the helpless prey.

He lifted himself in his seat and gave Davanne his instructions: 

“Be careful,” he said, “not to brush too close by them.  They might put a bullet into us.”

Another minute passed.

Suddenly they saw that, half a mile ahead, the road divided into three, thus forming a very wide open space which was still further extended by two triangular patches of grass where the three roads met.

“Now?” asked Davanne, turning to Don Luis.

The surrounding country was deserted.

“Off you go!” cried Don Luis.

The aeroplane seemed to shoot down suddenly, as though driven by an irresistible force, which sent it flying like an arrow toward the mark.  It passed at three hundred feet above the car, and then, all at once, checking its career, choosing the spot at which it meant to hit the target, calmly, silently, like a night-bird, steering clear of the trees and sign-posts, it alighted softly on the grass of the crossroads.

Don Luis sprang out and ran toward the motor, which was coming along at a rapid pace.  He stood in the middle of the road, levelled his two revolvers, and shouted: 

“Stop, or I fire!”

The terrified driver put on both brakes.  The car pulled up.

Don Luis rushed to one of the doors.