The rest of the narrative, much condensed from a letter of the
Marquis, written a week later, runs somewhat thus: "Our
departure was at fifty-four minutes past one, and occasioned
little stir among the spectators. Thinking they might be
frightened and stand in need of encouragement, I waved my arm.
M. de Rozier cried, 'You are doing nothing, and we are not
rising!' I stirred the fire, and then began to scan the river,
but Pilitre cried again, 'See the river; we are dropping into
it!' We again urged the fire, but still clung to the river bed.
Presently I heard a noise in the upper part of the balloon,
which gave a shock as though it had burst. I called to my
companion, 'Are you dancing?' The balloon by now had many holes
burned in it, and using my sponge I cried that we must descend.
My companion, however, explained that we were over Paris, and
must now cross it. Therefore, raising the fire once more, we
turned south till we passed the Luxemburg, when, extinguishing
the flame, the balloon came down spent and empty."

Daring as was this ascent, it was in achievement eclipsed two
months later at Lyons, when a mammoth balloon, 130 feet in
height and lifting 18 tons, was inflated in seventeen minutes,
and ascended with no less than seven passengers. When more than
half a mile aloft this machine, which was made of too slender
material for its huge size, suddenly developed a rent of half
its length, causing it to descend with immense velocity; but
without the smallest injury to any of the passengers. This was
a memorable performance, and the account, sensational as it may
read, is by no means unworthy of credit; for, as will be seen
hereafter, a balloon even when burst or badly torn in midair