“I noticed that his skirts held him up temporarily, but that could not last long. I began to cry in my turn, and call,—‘Papa! uncle!’—but the sound of my voice could not reach so far, and I felt that there must be something better to do than cry. I said to myself that one must go into the river to rescue the poor child. Yes, but in order to do that, it was necessary to wet one’s self in the cold water, which was particularly disagreeable to me, as you already know, and what was worse, they would see, afterwards, by my wet clothes that I had disobeyed, that I had not stayed in the path, but had broken my word; that was the most terrible part. In a couple of seconds all views of the situation flashed through my mind. Should I try to save the gardener’s little boy? Then I must disobey. An idea came to me which struck me as brilliant. I would take off my shoes, my stockings and my trousers, and leave them in the boat; the water evidently was not very deep, because I could see the bottom; I was quite large and by rolling my shirt up under my vest, I thought I could go. In a moment this was done. In another moment, and without stumbling, I had descended into the water, which, alas! was far from, warm. But that was not all. I had miscalculated the depth of the water and my height, and, when I had taken two or three steps towards the child, who still cried, I saw that if I went any farther I should wet my shirt and my vest. That seemed to me impossible to do. I took one step back toward the boat. The thought did not occur to me that I should have undressed completely at first, and that I might do it even now. Yes, I very nearly left the child to drown, for the sake of not wetting the clothes which I still wore (which, it is true, were new ones) and of not having to admit afterwards, that I had disobeyed. “My hesitation did not last long. ‘Father will forgive me.’ I said to myself, when he knows all about it, ‘and giving myself up altogether to the sentiment of a duty which I felt was superior to all others, I succeeded, scarcely knowing how, in crossing the river, in reaching the little boy, who had already stopped crying, in pulling his head out of the water first, and then, with infinite pains, in seating him on the first step of a worm-eaten stair-case which mounted the sloping river-bank, towards his father’s garden. “No one appeared; no answer came to my cries. There were still four steps to mount, to reach the garden: I finally contrived to climb them with my burden. Once there, I laid the child down among the cabbages. From violet, he had become quite pale, and much frightened, I ran towards his parents’ house.” VI. “Then I found the little one’s mother, whom I knew by sight.