There was, in a word, a battle between me and the flame, and I felt proud to have an element for my foe. All at once, the gable-end fell in with a terrible crash; the other supports of the roof being weakened by my blows, gave way, and the roof itself fell, smothering, beneath the raging flames. I flung the axe away from me, and held on like grim death to my chimney. A whirlwind of smoke and fire blotted me from the crowd below, and, half suffocated as I was, I could still hear and understand their murmur of pain and anxiety. The crisis was over. With one last effort I struggled to my trap-door, and in another moment—I know not how—found myself safe and sound in the open air. Friendly arms embraced me, and looking up, I saw it was the General, who held in one hand my precious books. “My boy,” he said, “you are brave, and you read Rousseau: therefore I do not offer you a reward. But you will be a true man, and I embrace you.” And again he pressed me in his arms. By this time, my uncle, and, indeed, all the village, were at my side; and whilst I was receiving their congratulations, the General and his friend had departed. No one knew who they were. This was an important day in my life; for I had learnt to understand what was conveyed in that most beautiful of all human words—self-devotion. CHAPTER IV. I EDUCATE MYSELF FOR CONTINGENCIES. Next day I laid up for myself a course of study—physical and intellectual. In the morning I read and studied my books; during the day I worked at my carpentry; towards evening I indulged in shooting, in gymnastics, and sports of that nature; and at night I again returned to my books. I improved every day. About a week after the events of the last chapter, M. Drouet, and two friends came to my uncle’s. M. Drouet and his friends shook me by the hand. He asked me how I was getting on, and I told him all, regretting at the same time that I had no money to buy books, or get instruction in Latin. “No money!” said Jean Baptiste. “Who hinders you from making it?” “Making it?” I answered. “But how?” “With your plane, of course.” “But, Monsieur Drouet, I have no customers.” “I will find them for you.” “Where?” “To begin with, the postmaster of St. Menehould, Jean Baptiste Drouet by name. The fact is, I require a quantity of carpentry work done in my house, and you must undertake it.” “I am not good enough workman for that, Monsieur Drouet.” “But if I find you good enough?” “Then I would not like to take your money.” “Nonsense! I must get somebody to do it, so that is settled. Now, about the Latin. I will find you a teacher—Monsieur Fortin, the Curé of Islettes.” “How will I pay him?” “I don’t think that he would take your money.” “But I take yours, Monsieur Drouet.” “Ah, that is different. Government does not pay me to make wash-hand-stands, but it does pay Abbé Fortin to instruct his flock morally and intellectually.” “I should like to offer him something.”