mine momentarily, thought above all of diverting the children. Her good humor
kept up a superb bravery; and she laughed to combat the terror that she felt
growing around her. She forcibly placed Aimee, Veronique, and Marie at the
table. She put the cards into their hands, took a hand herself with an air of
intense interest, shuffling, cutting, dealing with such a flow of talk that
she almost drowned the noise of the water. But our girls could not be diverted;
they were pale, with feverish hands, and ears on the alert. Every few moments
there was a pause in the play. One of them would turn to me, asking in a low
voice:

"Grandpa, is it still rising?"

"No, no. Go on with the game. There is no danger."

Never had my heart been gripped by such agony. All the men placed themselves
at the windows to hide the terrifying sight. We tried to smile, turned toward
the peaceful lamps that threw discs of light upon the table. I recalled our
winter evenings, when we gathered around the table. It was the same quiet
interior, filled with the warmth of affection. And while peace was there I
heard behind me the roaring of the escaped river, that was constantly rising.

"Louis," said my brother Pierre, "the water is within three feet of the window.
We ought to tell them."

I hushed him up by pressing his arm. But it was no longer possible to hide
the peril. In our barns the animals were killing each other. There were
bleatings and bellowings from the crazed herds; and the horses gave the harsh
cries that can be heard at great distances when they are in danger of death.

"My God! My God!" cried Aimee, who stood up, pressing her hands to her temples.