Don't stay there and get all wet."

"But the animals?" they asked. "They are afraid. They are killing each
other in the barn."

"No, no; come up! After a while we'll see to them."

The rescue of the animals would be impossible, if the disaster was to
attain greater proportions. I thought it unnecessary to frighten the
family. So I forced myself to appear hopeful. Leaning on the windowsill,
I indicated the progress of the flood. The river, after its attack on
the village, was in possession even to the narrowest streets. It was no
longer a galloping charge, but a slow and invincible strangulation. The
hollow in the bottom of which Saint-Jory is built was changed into a
lake. In our yard the water was soon three feet deep. But I asserted
that it remained stationary--I even went so far as to pretend that it
was going down.

"Well, you will be obliged to sleep here to-night, my boy," I said,
turning to Gaspard. "That is, unless the roads are free in a couple of
hours--which is quite possible."

He looked at me without answering, his face quite pale; and I saw him
look at Veronique with an expression of anguish.

It was half-past eight o'clock. It was still daylight--a pale, sad light
beneath the blanched sky. The servants had had the forethought to bring
up two lamps with them. I had them lighted, thinking that they would
brighten up the somber room. Aunt Agathe, who had rolled a table to the
middle of the room, wished to organize a card party. The worthy woman,
whose eyes sought mine momentarily, thought above all of diverting the
children. Her good humor kept up a superb bravery; and she laughed to
combat the terror that she felt growing around her. She forcibly placed
Aimee, Veronique, and Marie at the table. She put the cards into their
hands, took a hand herself with an air of intense interest, shuffling,
cutting, dealing with such a flow of talk that she almost drowned the
noise of the water. But our girls could not be diverted; they were pale,
with feverish hands, and ears on the alert. Every few moments there
was a pause in the play. One of them would turn to me, asking in a low
voice:

"Grandpa, is it still rising?"

"No, no. Go on with the game. There is no danger."

Never had my heart been gripped by such agony. All the men placed
themselves at the windows to hide the terrifying sight. We tried to
smile, turned toward the peaceful lamps that threw discs of light upon
the table. I recalled our winter eve