“Did you see Madame Blanchard fall?” said he to me.  “I saw her, I—­yes, I was at Tivoli on the 6th of July, 1819.  Madame Blanchard ascended in a balloon of small size, to save the expense of filling; she was therefore obliged to inflate it entirely, and the gas escaped by the lower orifice, leaving on its route a train of hydrogen.  She carried, suspended above her car, by an iron wire, a kind of firework, forming an aureola, which she was to kindle.  She had often repeated this experiment.  On this occasion she carried, besides, a little parachute, ballasted by a firework terminating in a ball with silver rain.  Site was to launch this apparatus, after having lighted it with a lance a feu, prepared for the purpose.  She ascended.  The night was dark.  At the moment of lighting the firework, she was so imprudent as to let the lance pass beneath the column of hydrogen, which was escaping from the balloon.  My eyes were fixed on her.  Suddenly an unexpected flash illuminated the darkness.  I thought it a surprise of the skilful aeronaut.  The flame increased, suddenly disappeared, and re-appeared at the top of the aerostat under the form of an immense jet of burning gas.  This sinister light projected over the Boulevard, and over the quarter Montmartre.  Then I saw the unfortunate woman rise, twice attempt to compress the orifice of the balloon, to extinguish the fire, then seat herself in the car and seek to direct its descent; for she did not fall.  The combustion of the gas lasted several minutes.  The balloon, diminishing by degrees, continued to descend, but this was not a fall!  The wind blew from the northeast, and drove her over Paris.  There were, at that time, in the neighbourhood of the house No. 16 Rue de Provence, immense gardens.  The aeronaut might have fallen there without danger.  But unhappily the balloon and the car alighted on the roof of the house.  The shock was slight.  ‘Help!’ cried the unfortunate woman.  I arrived in the street at that moment.  The car slid along the roof, and encountered an iron hook.  At this shock, Madame Blanchard was thrown out of the car, and precipitated on the pavement!  She was killed!”

These histories of fatal augury froze me with horror.  The unknown was standing upright, with bare head, bristling hair, haggard eyes.

Illusion was no longer possible.  I saw at last the horrible truth.  I had to deal with a madman!

He threw out half the ballast, and we must have been borne to a height of 7000 metres!  Blood spouted from my nose and mouth.

“What a fine thing it is to be martyrs to science!  They are canonized by posterity!”

I heard no more.  The unknown looked around him with horror, and knelt at my ear.