occupation and excitement, as every minute the river threw a white arm
over the levee's top, as though it would vault over. But all held fast,
and, as the summer drifted in, the water sunk down into its banks and
looked quite incapable of harm.

On a summer afternoon of uncommon mildness, old Colonel Jean Albert
Henri Joseph De Charleu-Marot, being in a mood for revery, slipped the
custody of his feminine rulers and sought the crown of the levee, where
it was his wont to promenade. Presently he sat upon a stone bench,--a
favorite seat. Before him lay his broad-spread fields; near by, his
lordly mansion; and being still,--perhaps by female contact,--somewhat
sentimental, he fell to musing on his past. It was hardly worthy to be
proud of. All its morning was reddened with mad frolic, and far toward
the meridian it was marred with elegant rioting. Pride had kept him
well-nigh useless, and despised the honors won by valor; gaming had
dimmed prosperity; death had taken his heavenly wife; voluptuous ease
had mortgaged his lands; and yet his house still stood, his
sweet-smelling fields were still fruitful, his name was fame enough; and
yonder and yonder, among the trees and flowers, like angels walking in
Eden, were the seven goddesses of his only worship.

Just then a slight sound behind him brought him to his feet. He cast his
eyes anxiously to the outer edge of the little strip of bank between the
levee's base and the river. There was nothing visible. He paused, with
his ear toward the water, his face full of frightened expectation. Ha!
There came a single plashing sound, like some great beast slipping into
the river, and little waves in a wide semi-circle came out from under
the bank and spread over the water!

"My God!"