was. The dawn appeared, a great white daybreak. It was very fresh and very
calm, as on the bank of a pond, the surface of which awakens before sunrise.
But the laughter sounded continually.

Turning, I saw Marie, standing in her wet clothes. It was she who was laughing.

Ah! the poor, dear child! How sweet and pretty she was at that early hour! I
saw her stoop, take up some water in the hollow of her hand, and wash her
face. Then she coiled her beautiful blonde hair. Doubtless, she imagined she
was in her little room, dressing while the church bell rang merrily. And she
continued to laugh her childish laugh, her eyes bright and her face happy.

I, too, began to laugh, infected with her madness. Terror had destroyed her
mind; and it was a mercy, so charmed did she appear with the beauty of the
morning.

I let her hasten, not understanding, shaking my head tenderly. When she
considered herself ready to go, she sang one of her canticles in her clear
crystalline voice. But, interrupting herself, she cried, as if responding
to someone who had called her:

"I am coming, I am coming!"

She took up the canticle again, went down the roof, and entered the water.
It covered her softly, without a ripple. I had not ceased smiling. I looked
with happiness upon the spot where she had just disappeared.

Then, I remembered nothing more. I was alone on the roof. The water had risen.
A chimney was standing, and I must have clung to it with all my strength, like
an animal that dreads death. Then, nothing, nothing, a black pit, oblivion.