Chirac uncovered, and kissed her hand. The wind disarranged his hair. She saw that his face was very pale and anxious beneath the swagger of a sincere desire to be brave.
“Well, it is the moment!” he said.
“Did you all forget the food?” she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. “What will you? One cannot think of everything.”
“I hope you will have a safe voyage,” she said.
She had already taken leave of him once, in the house, and heard all about the balloon and the sailor-aeronaut and the preparations; and now she had nothing to say, nothing whatever.
He shrugged his shoulders again. “I hope so!” he murmured, but in a tone to convey that he had no such hope.
“The wind isn’t too strong?” she suggested.
He shrugged his shoulders again. “What would you?”
“Is it in the direction you want?”