It was now he remembered that it is customary in Flanders on that night to replace the hay, carrots, and turnips which the little ones put on the hearth to feed Saint Nicholas' ass, by big dolls, wooden horses, musical instruments, violins, or simply by mannikins in spikelaus, according as each can afford. "Ah," he said to himself, comforted, "they are fathers and mothers going to the shops." But now the gloomy lights which resembled the taper-bearers seemed to be chasing one another along the quays; their little flames ran in every direction, crossed one another, and looked like big fireflies. "I must see double," he said, "the fireflies can be in my brain only." Suddenly he heard voices, calling, crying out, lamenting. Torches moved to and fro on the river bank, their red tongues of flame blown by the wind amid clouds of smoke. In the uncertain light he could at last distinguish figures rushing about, others leaning over the river, black as well. This explained everything: the lamps had not moved, but he had been misled by the flitting torches. "Let us fetch Dolf Jeffers," cried two men. "No one else will be able to do it." "Here is Dolf Jeffers," cried the good fellow at that moment, "what do you want?" He recognized the men; they were his friends, his fellow-workers, boatmen, like himself. All surrounded him, gesticulating. An old man, wizened as a dried plaice, tapped him on the shoulder, and said: "Dolf, for God's sake! A fellow-creature is being drowned. Help! Perhaps it's already too late. Strip off your clothes, Dolf." Dolf looked at the water, the lanterns, the night above him, and the men who urged him on. "Comrades," he cried, "before God, I cannot. Riekje is in labor and my life is not my own." "Dolf! Help!" cried the old man again, as with trembling hands he pointed to his dripping clothes. "I have three children, Dolf, yet I have been in twice. I have no strength left." Dolf turned to the pale faces which stood in a circle round him. "Cowards," he cried. "Is there not one among you who will save a drowning man?" The greater number bent their heads and shrugged their shoulders, feeling that they had deserved the reproach. "Dolf," the old man cried, "as sure's death's death, I shall try again, if you do not go." "God! God! There he is!" cried the men at that moment, who were moving the torches over the water. "We saw his head and feet. Help!" Dolf threw off his coat and said to the boatmen coldly: "I will go." Then he spoke again: "One of you run to Madame Puzzel and take her back to the Guldenvisch at once." He made the sign of the cross and muttered between his teeth: "Jesus Christ, who died on the cross to save sinners, have mercy on me."