The engineer only feared one thing; it was that the balloon, held to the ground and dashed about by the wind, would be torn into shreds.

For several hours he roamed round the nearly-deserted square, surveying the apparatus.

Pencroft did the same on his side, his hands in his pockets, yawning now and then like a man who did not know how to kill the time, but really dreading, like his friend, either the escape or destruction of the balloon.

Evening arrived.

The night was dark in the extreme.