that had taken refuge on the roof of a
house--poor devils in danger of being swept off at any moment. Rafael
had learned of their plight, and he was starting to save them at the
risk of his own skin. And a wealthy, powerful man like him, with so much
to live for! Damn it, those Brulls were all men, anyhow!... And yet see
how people talked against them! What a heart! And the peasants followed
the blood-red glow of the torch in the boat as it mirrored across the
waters, gazing adoringly at Rafael, who was sitting in the stern. Out of
the dark entreating voices called. Many loyal followers of the Brulls
were eager to go with the chief--drown with him, if need be.

Cupido protested. No; for a job like that, the fewer the better; the
boat had to be light; he would do for the oars and Rafael could steer.

"Let her go! Let her go!" called Rafael.

And the boat, after hesitating a second, shot off on the current.

In the narrow gorge between the Old City and the New, the swollen
torrent swept them along like lightning. The barber used his oars just
to keep the boat away from the shore. Submerged rocks sent great
whirlpools to the surface and pulled the boat this way and that. The
light of the torch cast a dull reddish glow out over the muddy eddies.
Tree trunks, refuse, dead animals, went floating by, shapeless masses
with only a few dark points visible above the surface, as though some
dead man covered with mud were swimming under water. Out on that
swirling current, with the slimy vapors of the river rising to his
nostrils and the eddies sucking and boiling all around, Rafael thought
himself the victim of a weird nightmare and began even to repent of his
rashness. Cries kept coming from houses close to the river; windows were
suddenly lighted up; and from them great shadowy arms like the wings of
a windmill waved in greeting to that red flame which people saw gliding
past along the river, bringing the outlines of the boat and the two men
into distinct view. The news of their expedition had spread throughout
the city and people were on the watch for them as they sped by: "_Viva_
don Rafael! _Viva_ Brull!"

But the hero who was risking his life to save a family of poor folks out
there in the darkness of that sticky, murky, sepulchral night, had in
mind only one thing--a blue house, into which he was to penetrate at
last, in so strange and romantic a fashion.

From time to time a scraping sound or a jolt of the boat would b