And without waiting for my assent, he lightened the balloon by two bags of sand which he emptied into the air.

“Monsieur,” said I, taking the only possible course, “you are here,—­well! you choose to remain,—­well! but to me alone belongs the management of the aerostat.”

“Monsieur,” replied he, “your urbanity is entirely French; it is of the same country with myself!  I press in imagination the hand which you refuse me.  Take your measures,—­act as it may seem good to you; I will wait till you have ended—­”

“To—­”

“To converse with you.”

The barometer had fallen to twenty-six inches; we had attained a height of about six hundred metres, and were over the city; which satisfied me of our complete quiescence, for I could not judge by our motionless flags.  Nothing betrays the horizontal voyage of a balloon; it is the mass of air surrounding it which moves.  A kind of wavering heat bathed the objects extended at our feet, and gave their outlines an indistinctness to be regretted.  The needle of the compass indicated a slight tendency to float towards the south.

I looked again at my companion.  He was a man of thirty, simply clad; the bold outlines of his features betokened indomitable energy; he appeared very muscular.  Absorbed in the emotion of this silent suspension, he remained immovable, seeking to distinguish the objects which passed beneath his view.

“Vexatious mist!” said he, at the expiration of a few moments.

I made no reply.

“What would you?  I could not pay for my voyage; I was obliged to take you by surprise.”

“No one has asked you to descend!”

“A similar occurrence,” he resumed, “happened to the Counts of Laurencin and Dampierre, when they ascended at Lyons, on the 15th of January, 1784.  A young merchant, named Fontaine, scaled the railing, at the risk of upsetting the equipage.  He accomplished the voyage, and nobody was killed!”

“Once on the earth, we will converse!” said I, piqued at the tone of lightness with which he spoke.

“Bah! do not talk of returning!”

“Do you think then that I shall delay my descent?”

“Descent!” said he, with surprise.  “Let us ascend!”

And before I could prevent him, two bags of sand were thrown out, without even being emptied.

“Monsieur!” said I, angrily.

“I know your skill,” replied he, composedly; “your brilliant ascensions have made some noise in the world.  Experience is the sister of practice, but it is also first cousin to theory, and I have long and deeply studied the aerostatic art.  It has affected my brain,” added he, sadly, falling into a mute torpor.

The balloon, after having risen, remained stationary; the unknown consulted the barometer, and said: 

“Here we are at 800 metres!  Men resemble insects!  See, I think it is from this height that we should always look at them, to judge correctly of their moral proportions!  The Place de la Comedie is transformed to an immense ant-hill.  Look at the crowd piled up on the quays.  The Zeil diminishes.  We are above the church of Dom.  The Mein is now only a white line dividing the city, and this bridge, the Mein-Brucke, looks like a white thread thrown between the two banks of the river.”