“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 Comédie 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.”
The atmosphere grew cooler.