The Chevalier had resolved to leave home without taking leave of his
wife. He shrank from all discussion and explanation, and, as he intended
to return in a short time, he believed that he should act more wisely in
leaving a letter than by making a verbal farewell. There was _some_
truth in his statement of that business affair calling him away,
although business was not his first consideration. And now one of his
friends had written to hasten his departure. Here was a good excuse. On
returning alone to his house (by a much shorter route than that taken by
the carriage), he announced his intention to the servants, packed in
great haste, sent his light luggage on to the town, mounted his horse,
and was gone.
Yet a certain misgiving troubled him, for he knew that his Cécile would
be pained by his abrupt departure, although he endeavoured to persuade
himself that he did this for her sake no less than for his own. However,
he continued on his way.
Meanwhile, Madame des Arcis was returning in the carriage, with her
daughter asleep upon her knee. She felt hurt at the Chevalier's rudeness
in leaving them to return alone. It seemed such a public slight upon his
wife and child! Sad forebodings filled the mother's heart as the
carriage jolted slowly over the stones of a newly-made road. "God
watches over all," she reflected; "over us as over others. But what
shall we do? What will become of my poor child?"
At some distance from Chardonneux there was a ford to be crossed. There
had been much rain for nearly a month past, causing the river to
overflow its banks. The ferryman refused at first to take the carriage
into his boat; he would undertake, he said, to convey the passengers and
the horse safely across, but not the vehicle. The lady, anxious to
rejoin her husband, would not descend. She ordered the coachman to enter
the boat; it was only a transit of a few minutes, which she had made a
hundred times.
In mid-stream the boat was forced by the current from its straight
course. The boatman asked the coachman's aid in keeping it away from the
weir. For there was not far off a mill with a weir, where the violence
of the water had formed a sort of cascade. It was clear that if the boat
drifted to this spot there would be a terrible accident.
[Illustration: "IN MID-STREAM."]
The coachman descended from his seat, and worked with a will. But he had
only a pole to work with, the night was dark, a fine rain blinded the
men, and soon the noise of the weir announced the most imminent danger.
Madame des Arcis, who had remained in the carriage, opened the window in
alarm. "Are we then lost?" cried she. At that moment the pole broke. The
two men fell into the boat exhausted, and with bruised hands.
The ferryman could swim, but not the coachman. There was no time to
lose. "Père Georgeot," said Madame to the ferryman, calling him by his
name, "can you save my daughter and myself?"
"Certainly!" he replied, as if almost insulted by the question.
"What must we do?" inquired Madame des Arcis.
"Place yourself upon my shoulders," replied the ferryman, "and put your
arms about my neck. As for the little one, I will hold her in one hand,
and swim with the other, and she shall not get drowned. It is but a
short distance from here to the potatoes which grow in yonder field."
"And Jean?" asked Madame, meaning the coachman.
"Jean will be all right, I hope. If he holds on at the weir, I will
return for him."
Père Georgeot struck out with his double burden, but he had
over-estimated his powers. He was no longer young. The shore was farther
off, the current stronger than he had thought. He struggled manfully,
but was nearly swept away. Then the trunk of a willow, hidden by the
water and the darkness, stopped him suddenly with a violent blow upon
the forehead. Blood flowed from the wound and obscured his vision.
"Could you save my child if you had only her to convey?" asked the
mother.
"I cannot tell, but I _think_ so," said the ferryman.
The mother removed her arms from the man's neck, and let herself slip
gently into the water.
When the ferryman had deposited Camille safely on _terra firma_, the
coachman, who had been rescued by a peasant, helped him to search for
the body of Madame des Arcis. It was found on the following morning,
near the bank.