followed a terrible series of sounds, for a bomb had just fallen and
exploded very near at hand. But so entrancing was it to observe the
flight of this pirate who, in spite of everything, continued in his
audacious course, that I gazed at the heavens, trying to determine
whether or not I saw once more the little white cloud, the precursor
of the machine of death.

And everyone who was near me--workmen, passers-by, women,
children--stayed there too, their feet firmly on the ground, their
glances lost in the limitless sky. No one ran away; no one hid; no one
sought refuge behind a door or in a cellar. It's a characteristic of
airplane bombs that they frighten no one, even when they kill. The
machine you see does not frighten you; only the machine you can't see
upsets your nerves.

However that may be, the curiosity of Paris was insatiable. Even in
the tragic hours we were living through at that time, this curiosity
remained as eager, ardent and amused as ever. Every afternoon, at the
stroke of four, crowds collected in the squares and avenues. The
motive was to see the Taubes! Since one Taube had flown over the city,
no one doubted that a second one would come the next day. A girl's
boarding school obtained a free afternoon to enjoy the spectacle. The
midinettes were allowed to leave their work. At Montmartre, where the
steps of the Butte gave a better chance of scanning the horizon,
places were in great demand.

There was a crowd along the fortifications to see the works for the
defense on which, by General Gallieni's order, men were working.
Thousands of spectators of both sexes, but especially of women, were
examining the bases that were being put in for the guns, the openings