and seemed to be
circling about us without approaching. I remember that we were like mad.
We raised our arms in our fury; we shouted with all our might. And we
insulted the boat, called it cowardly. But, dark and silent, it glided
away slowly. Was it really a boat? I do not know to this day. When it
disappeared it carried our last hope.

We were expecting every second to be engulfed with the house. It was
undermined and was probably supported by one solid wall, which, in
giving way, would pull everything with it. But what terrified me most
was to feel the roof sway under our feet. The house would perhaps hold
out overnight, but the tiles were sinking in, beaten and pierced by
beams. We had taken refuge on the left side on some solid rafters. Then
these rafters seemed to weaken. Certainly they would sink if all five of
us remained in so small a space.

For some minutes my brother Pierre had been twisting his soldierly
mustache, frowning and muttering to himself. The growing danger that
surrounded him and against which his courage availed nothing, was
wearing out his endurance. He spat two or three times into the water,
with an expression of contemptuous anger. Then, as we sank lower, he
made up his mind; he started down the roof.

"Pierre! Pierre!" I cried, fearing to comprehend.

He turned and said quietly:

"Adieu, Louis! You see, it is too long for me. And it will leave more
room for you."

And, first throwing in his pipe, he plunged, adding:

"Good night! I have had enough!"

He did not come up. He was not a strong swimmer, and he probably
abandoned himself, heart-broken at the death of our dear ones and at our
ruin.

Two o'clock sounded from the steeple of the church. The night would soon
end--that horrible night already so filled with agony and tears. Little
by little, beneath our feet, the small dry space grew smaller. The
current had changed again. The drift, passed to the right of the
village, floating slowly, as if the water, nearing its highest level,
was reposing, tired and lazy.

Gaspard suddenly took off his shoes and his shirt. I watched him for a
moment as he wrung his hands. When I questioned him he said:

"Listen, grandfather; it is killing me to wait. I cannot stay here. Let
me do as I wish. I will save her."

He was speaking of Veronique. I opposed him. He would never have the
strength to carry the young girl to the church. But he was obstinate.

"Yes, I can! My arms are strong. I fe