“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:
“If we could only reach the church!”
Above the waters the church remained standing, with its little square
steeple. We were separated from it by seven houses. Our farmhouse, the
first of the village, adjoined a higher building, which, in turn,
leaned against the next. Perhaps, by way of the roofs, we would be able
to reach the parsonage. A number of people must have taken refuge there
already, for the neighboring roofs were vacant, and we could hear
voices that surely came from the steeple. But what dangers must be run
to reach them!
“It is impossible,” said Pierre. “The house of the Raimbeaus is too
high; we would need ladders.”
“I am going to try it,” said Cyprien. “I will return if the way is
impracticable. Otherwise, we will all go and we will have to carry the
girls.”
I let him go. He was right. We had to try the impossible. He had
succeeded, by the aid of an iron hook fixed in a chimney, in climbing
to the next house, when his wife, Aimee, raising her head, noticed that
he was no longer with us. She screamed:
“Where is he? I don’t want him to leave me! We are together, we shall
die together!”
When she saw him on the top of the house she ran over the tiles, still
holding her children. And she called out:
“Cyprien, wait for me! I am going with you. I am going to die with
you.”
She persisted. He leaned over, pleading with her, promising to come
back, telling her that he was going for the rescue of all of us. But,
with a wild air, she shook her head, repeating “I am going with you! I
am going with you!”
He had to take the children. Then he helped her up. We could follow
them along the crest of the house. They walked slowly. She had taken
the children again, and at every step he turned and supported her.
“Get her to a safe place, and return!” I shouted.
I saw him wave his hand, but the roaring of the water prevented my
hearing his answer. Soon we could not see them. They had descended to
the roof of the next house. At the end of five minutes they appeared
upon the third roof, which must have been very steep, for they went on
hands and knees along the summit. A sudden terror seized me. I put my
hands to my mouth and shouted:
“Come back! Come back!”
Then all of us shouted together. Our voices stopped them for a moment,
but they continued on their way. They reached the angle formed by the
street upon which faced the Raimbeau house, a high structure, with a
roof at least ten feet above those of the neighboring houses. For a
moment they hesitated. Then Cyprien climbed up a chimney pipe, with the
agility of a cat. Aimee, who must have consented to wait for him, stood
on the tiles. We saw her plainly, black and enlarged against the pale
sky, straining her children to her bosom. And it was then that the
horrifying trouble began.
The Raimbeau house, originally intended for a factory, was very
flimsily built. Besides, the facade was exposed to the current in the
street. I thought I could see it tremble from the attacks of the water;
and, with a contraction of the throat, I watched Cyprien cross the
roof. Suddenly a rumbling was heard. The moon rose, a round moon, whose
yellow face lighted up the immense lake. Not a detail of the
catastrophe was lost to us. The Raimbeau house collapsed. We gave a cry
of terror as we saw Cyprien disappear. As the house crumbled we could
distinguish nothing but a tempest, a swirling of waves beneath the
debris of the roof. Then calm was restored, the surface became smooth;
and out of the black hole of the engulfed house projected the skeleton
of its framework. There was a mass of entangled beams, and, amongst
them, I seemed to see a body moving, something living making superhuman
efforts.
“He lives!” I cried. “Oh, God be praised! He lives!”
We laughed nervously; we clapped our hands, as if saved ourselves.
“He is going to raise himself up,” said Pierre.
“Yes, yes,” said Gaspard, “he is trying to seize the beam on his left.”
But our laugh ceased. We had just realized the terrible situation in
which Cyprien was placed. During the fall of the house his feet had
been caught between two beams, and he hung head downward within a few
inches of the water. On the roof of the next house Aimee was still
standing, holding her two children. A convulsive tremor shook her. She
did not take her eyes from her husband, a few yards below her. And, mad
with horror, she emitted without cessation a lamentable sound like the
howling of a dog.
“We can’t let him die like that,” said Jacques, distracted. “We must
get down there.”
“Perhaps we could slide down the beams and save him,” remarked Pierre.
And they started toward the neighboring roof, when the second house
collapsed, leaving a gap in the route. Then a chill seized us. We
mechanically grasped each other’s hands, wringing them cruelly as we
watched the harrowing sight.
Cyprien had tried at first to stiffen his body. With extraordinary
strength, he had lifted himself above the water, holding his body in an
oblique position. But the strain was too great. Nevertheless, he
struggled, tried to reach some of the beams, felt around him for
something to hold to. Then, resigning himself, he fell back again,
hanging limp.
Death was slow in coming. The water barely covered his hair, and it
rose very gradually. He must have felt its coolness on his brain. A
wave wet his brow; others closed his eyes. Slowly we saw his head
disappear.
The women, at our feet, had buried their faces in their clasped hands.
We, ourselves, fell to our knees, our arms outstretched, weeping,
stammering supplications.
On the other roof Aimee, still standing, her children clasped to her
bosom, howled mournfully into the night.