standing with bare head, disheveled hair, haggard eyes! There was no longer any illusion possible. I recognized the horrible truth. I was in the presence of a madman!
He threw out the rest of the ballast, and we must have now reached a height of at least nine thousand yards. Blood spurted from my nose and mouth!
"Who are nobler than the martyrs of science?" cried the lunatic. "They are canonized by posterity."
But I no longer heard him. He bent down to my ear and muttered, "And have you forgotten Zambecarri's catastrophe? Listen. On the 7th of October, 1804, the clouds seemed to lift a little. On the preceding days, the wind and rain had not ceased; but the announced ascension of Zambecarri could not be postponed. His enemies were already bantering him. It was necessary to ascend to save the science and himself from becoming a public jest. It was at Boulogne. No one helped him to inflate his balloon. He rose at midnight, accompanied by Andreoli and Grossetti. The balloon mounted slowly, for it had been perforated by the rain, and the gas was leaking out. The three intrepid aeronauts could only observe the state of the barometer by aid of a dark lantern. Zambecarri had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours. Grossetti was also fasting.
"'My friends,' said Zambecarri, 'I am overcome by cold, and exhausted. I am dying.'
"He fell inanimate in the gallery. It was the same with Grossetti. Andreoli alone remained conscious. After long efforts, he succeeded in reviving Zambecarri.
"'What news? Whither are we going? How is the wind? What time is it?'
"'It is two o'clock.'
"'Where is the compass?'
"'Upset!'
"'Great God! The lantern has gone out!'
"'It cannot burn in this rarefied air," said Zambecarri.
"The moon had not risen and the atmosphere was plunged in murky darkness." 'I am cold, Andreoli. What shall I do?'
"They slowly descended through a layer of whitish clouds. 'Sh!' said Andreoli. 'Do you hear?'
"'What?' asked Zambecarri.
