the sign of the cross, and mumbled Paters and Aves.

Meanwhile the spectacle about us became of sovereign grandeur. The night
retained the clearness of a summer night. There was no moon, but the sky
was sprinkled with stars, and was of so pure a blue that it seemed to fill
space with a blue light. And the immense sheet of water expanded beneath the
softness of the sky. We could no longer see any land.

"The water is rising; the water is rising!" repeated my brother Pierre, still
crunching the stem of his pipe between his teeth.

The water was within a yard of the roof. It was losing its tranquility;
currents were being formed. In less than an hour the water became threatening,
dashing against the house, bearing drifting barrels, pieces of wood, clumps
of weeds. In the distance there were attacks upon walls, and we could hear
the resounding shocks. Poplar trees fell, houses crumbled, like a cartload of
stones emptied by the roadside.

Jacques, unnerved by the sobs of the women, cried:

"We can't stay here. We must try something. Father, I beg of you, try to
do something."

I stammered after him:

"Yes, yes; let us try to do something."

And we knew of nothing. Gaspard offered to take Veronique on his back and
swim with her to a place of safety. Pierre suggested a raft. Cyprien finally
said: