.

"Well," said he, "do you see now?" and he pointed to the horizon.

"The water!" cried Remy.

"Yes, the water! it invades us; see, at our feet, the river overflows,
and in five minutes we shall be surrounded."

"Madame! madame!" cried Remy.

"Do not frighten her, Remy; get ready the horses at once."

Remy ran to the stable, and Henri flew up the staircase. At Remy's cry
Diana had opened her door; Henri seized her in his arms and carried her
away as he would have done a child. But she, believing in treason or
violence, struggled, and clung to the staircase with all her might.

"Tell her that I am saving her, Remy!" cried Henri.

Remy heard the appeal, and cried:

"Yes, yes, madame, he is saving you, or rather he will save you. Come,
for Heaven's sake!"

CHAPTER LXIX.

FLIGHT.

Henri, without losing time in reasoning with Diana, carried her out of
the house, and wished to place her before him on his horse; but she,
with a movement of invincible repugnance, glided from his arms, and was
received by Remy, who placed her on her own horse.

"Ah, madame!" cried Henri, "how little you understand my heart. It was
not, believe me, for the pleasure of holding you in my arms, or pressing
you to my heart, although for that favor I would sacrifice my life, but
that we ought to fly as quickly as the birds, and look at them, how they
fly!"

Indeed, in the scarcely dawning light were seen large numbers of curlews
and pigeons, traversing the air with a quick and frightened flight,
which, in the night, usually abandoned to the silent bat, looked strange
to the eye, and sounded sinister to the ear.

Diana did not reply, but rode on without turning her head. Her horse,
however, as well as that of Remy, was fatigued with their long journey,
and Henri, as he turned back each moment, saw that they could not keep
up with him.

"See, madame!" said he, "how my horse outstrips yours, and yet I am
holding him in with all my strength; for Heaven's sake, madame, while
there is yet time, if you will not ride with me, take my horse and leave
me yours."

"No, thank you, monsieur," replied she, in her usual calm voice.

"But, madame," cried Henri, in despair, "the water gains on us; do you
hear! do you hear?"

Indeed, a horrible crashing was now heard; it was the dyke of a
neighboring village giving way, to swell the inundation. Boards and
props had given way, a double row of stakes broke with a noise like
thunder, and