ed him of all sight of the travelers, and when he had again
attained a new height, the ferryboat had left the shore and was making
for the opposite bank. Raoul, seeing that he could not arrive in time to
cross the ferry with the travelers, halted to wait for Olivain. At this
moment a shriek was heard that seemed to come from the river. Raoul
turned toward the side whence the cry had sounded, and shaded his eyes
from the glare of the setting sun with his hand.

"Olivain!" he exclaimed, "what do I see below there?"

A second scream, more piercing than the first, now sounded.

"Oh, sir!" cried Olivain, "the rope which holds the ferryboat has broken
and the boat is drifting. But what do I see in the water--something
struggling?"

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Raoul, fixing his glance on one point in the
stream, splendidly illumined by the setting sun, "a horse, a rider!"

"They are sinking!" cried Olivain in his turn.

It was true, and Raoul was convinced that some accident had happened and
that a man was drowning; he gave his horse its head, struck his spurs
into its sides, and the animal, urged by pain and feeling that he had
space open before him, bounded over a kind of paling which inclosed the
landing place, and fell into the river, scattering to a distance waves
of white froth.

"Ah, sir!" cried Olivain, "what are you doing? Good God!"

Raoul was directing his horse toward the unhappy man in danger. This
was, in fact, a custom familiar to him. Having been brought up on the
banks of the Loire, he might have been said to have been cradled on its
waves; a hundred times he had crossed it on horseback, a thousand times
had swum across. Athos, foreseeing the period when he should make
a soldier of the viscount, had inured him to all kinds of arduous
undertakings.

"Oh, heavens!" continued Olivain, in despair, "what would the count say
if he only saw you now!"

"The count would do as I do," replied Raoul, urging his horse vigorously
forward.

"But I--but I," cried Olivain, pale and disconsolate rushing about on
the shore, "how shall I cross?"

"Leap, coward!" cried Raoul, swimming on; then addressing the traveler,
who was struggling twenty yards in front of him: "Courage, sir!" said
he, "courage! we are coming to your aid."

Olivain advanced, retired, then made his horse rear--turned it and then,
struck to the core by shame, leaped, as Raoul had done, only repeating:

"I am a dead man! we are lost!"

In the meantim