"Ah, I see it!" cried Gaspard, suddenly. "Look over there. A large boat!"

And he pointed out a distant speck. I could see nothing, neither could
Pierre. But Gaspard insisted it was a boat. The sound of oars became distinct.
At last, we saw it. It was proceeding slowly and seemed to be circling about
us without approaching. I remember that we were like mad. We raised our arms
in our fury; we shouted with all our might. And we insulted the boat, called
it cowardly. But, dark and silent, it glided away slowly. Was it really a boat?
I do not know to this day. When it disappeared it carried our last hope.

We were expecting every second to be engulfed with the house. It was
undermined and was probably supported by one solid wall, which, in giving
way, would pull everything with it. But what terrified me most was to feel
the roof sway under our feet. The house would perhaps hold out overnight, but
the tiles were sinking in, beaten and pierced by beams. We had taken
refuge on the left side on some solid rafters. Then these rafters seemed to
weaken. Certainly they would sink if all five of us remained in so small a
space.

For some minutes my brother Pierre had been twisting his soldierly mustache,
frowning and muttering to himself. The growing danger that surrounded him
and against which his courage availed nothing, was wearing out his endurance.
He spat two or three times into the water, with an expression of contemptuous
anger. Then, as we sank lower, he made up his mind; he started down the roof.

"Pierre! Pierre!" I cried, fearing to comprehend.

He turned and said quietly:

"Adieu, Louis! You see, it is too long for me. And it will leave more room