el myself able. You will see. I
love her--I will save her!"

I was silent. I drew Marie to my breast. Then he thought I was
reproaching the selfishness of his love. He stammered:

"I will return and get Marie. I swear it. I will find a boat and
organize a rescue party. Have confidence in me, grandfather!"

Rapidly, he explained to Veronique that she must not struggle, that she
must submit without a movement, and that she must not be afraid. The
young girl answered "yes" to everything, with a distracted look. Then,
after making the sign of the cross, he slid down the roof, holding
Veronique by a rope that he had looped under her arms. She gave a
scream, beat the water with arms and legs, and, suffocated, she fainted.

"I like this better!" Gaspard called to me. "Now, I can answer for her!"

It can be imagined with what agony I followed them with my eyes. On the
white surface, I could see Gaspard's slightest movement. He held the
young girl by means of the rope that he coiled around his neck; and
he carried her thus, half thrown over his right shoulder. The crushing
weight bore him under at times. But he advanced, swimming with
superhuman strength. I was no longer in doubt. He had traversed a third
of the distance when he struck against something submerged. The shock
was terrible. Both disappeared. Then I saw him reappear alone. The rope
must have snapped. He plunged twice. At last, he came up with Veronique,
whom he again took on his back. But without the rope to hold her, she
weighed him down more than ever. Still, he advanced. A tremor shook me
as I saw them approaching the church. Suddenly, I saw some beams bearing
down upon them. A second shock separated them and the waters closed over
them.

From this moment, I was stupefied. I had but the instinct of the animal
looking out for its own safety. When the water advanced, I retreated. In
that stupor, I heard someone laughing, without explaining to myself who
it was. The dawn appeared, a great white daybreak. It was very fresh and
very calm, as on the bank of a pond, the surface of which awakens before
sunrise. But the laughter sounded continually.

Turning, I saw Marie, standing in her wet clothes. It was she who was
laughing.

Ah! the poor, dear child! How sweet and pretty she was at that early
hour! I saw her stoop, take up some water in the hollow of her hand, and
wash her face. Then she coiled her beautiful blonde hair. Doubtless, she
imagined she was in he