The Flood | Page 9

their legs. At last, their senses returned, and our anguish increased upon seeing them wet, shivering and crying miserably that they did not wish to die.
The end had come. The destroyed village was marked by a few vestiges of walls. Alone, the church reared its steeple intact, from whence came the voices--a murmur of human beings in a refuge. There were no longer any sounds of falling houses, like a cart of stones suddenly discharged. It was as if we were abandoned, shipwrecked, a thousand miles from land.
One moment we thought we heard the dip of oars. Ah! what hopeful music! How we all strained our eyes into space! We held our breath. But we could see nothing. The yellow sheet stretched away, spotted with black shadows. But none of those shadows--tops of trees, remnants of walls--moved. Driftwood, weeds, empty barrels caused us false joy. We waved our handkerchiefs until, realizing our error, we again succumbed to our anxiety.
"Ah, I see it!" cried Gaspard, suddenly. "Look over there. A large boat!"
And he pointed out a distant speck. I could see nothing, neither could Pierre. But Gaspard insisted it was a boat. The sound of oars became distinct. At last, we saw it. It was proceeding slowly 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 feel 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