But I no longer heard him. He looked about him, and, bending down to my ear, 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!’