bly
left behind him as soon as the aeroplane rose.

At the end of the second month Gaspard wrote to Jacques.

"My friend," he wrote, "the hatred of you which I nurse in my bosom,
and which fills me with the desire to purge you from the sky, is in
danger of being transferred to my instructor. Let us therefore meet
and renew our enmity."

Jacques Rissole wrote back to Gaspard.

"My enemy," he wrote, "there is nobody in the whole of the Roullens
aerodrome whom I do not detest with a detestation beside which my
hatred for you seems as maudlin adoration. This is notwithstanding the
fact that I make the most marvellous progress in the art of flying. It
is merely something in their faces which annoys me. Let me therefore
see yours again, in the hope that it will make me think more kindly of
theirs."

They met, poured wine over each other and parted. After another month
the need of a further stimulant was felt. They met again, and agreed
to insult each other weekly.

On the last day of his training Gaspard spoke seriously to his
instructor.

"You see that I make nothing of it," he said. "My thoughts are ever
with the stomach that I leave behind. Not once have I been in a
position to take control. How then can I fight? My friend, I arrange
it all. You shall take my place."

"Is that quite fair to Rissole?" asked Blanchaille doubtfully.

"Do not think that I want you to hurt him. That is not necessary. He
will hurt himself. Keep out of his way until he has finished with
himself, and then fly back here. It is easy."

It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could
never get to the _rendezvous_ alone, and it would be fatal to his
honour if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him.
Reluctantly Blanchaille agreed.

At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his
bedroom window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes
straight above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of
them he shuddered violently. Indeed he felt so unwell that the need
for some slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the
_estaminet_.

It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping
for a little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in
front of his face and looked up.

It was too much for Gaspard.

"Coward!" he shrieked.

Jacques, who had been just going to say the same thing, hastily
substituted "Serpent!"

"I know you,"