he progress of the inundation. We had
thrown the window wide open, we leant out at the risk of falling,
searching into the darkness. The fog, which was thicker, hung above the
flood, throwing out fine rain which gave us the shivers. Vague steel-like
flashes were all that showed the moving sheet of water, amidst the
profound obscurity. Below, it was splashing in the courtyard, rising along
the walls in gentle undulations. And we still heard naught but the anger
of the Durance, and the affrighted cattle and horses.

The neighing and lowing of these poor beasts pierced me to the heart.
Jacques questioned me with his eyes; he would have liked to try and
deliver them. Their agonising moans soon became lamentable, and a great
cracking sound was heard. The oxen had just broken down the stable doors.
We saw them pass before us, borne away by the flood, rolled over and over
in the current. And they disappeared amid the roar of the river.

Then I felt choking with anger. I became as one possessed, I shook my fist
at the Durance. Erect, facing the window, I insulted it.

"Wicked thing!" I shouted amidst the tumult of the waters, "I loved you
fondly, you were my first sweetheart, and now you are plundering me. You
come and disturb my farm, and carry off my cattle. Ah! cursed, cursed
thing.----Then you gave me Babet, you ran gently at the edge of my
meadows. I took you for a good mother. I remembered uncle Lazare felt
affection for your limpid stream, and I thought I owed you gratitude. You
are a barbarous mother, I only owe you my hatred----"

But the Durance stifled my cries with its thundering voice; and, broad and
indifferent, expanded and drove its flood onward with tranquil obstinacy.

I turned back to the room and went and kissed Babet, who was weeping.
Little Marie was smiling in her sleep.

"Don't be afraid," I said to my wife. "The water cannot always rise. It
will certainly go down. There is no danger."

"No, there is no danger," Jacques repeated feverishly. "The house is
solid."

At that moment Marguerite, who had approached the window, tormented by
that feeling of curiosity which is the outcome of fear, leant forward like
a mad thing and fell, uttering a cry. I threw myself before the window,
but could not prevent Jacques plunging into the water. Marguerite had
nursed him, and he felt the tenderness of a son for the poor old woman.
Babet had risen in terror, with joined hands, at the sound of the two
splashes. S