Henri flew to the house, and knocked furiously at the door. "Open! open!" cried he. No one replied. "Open, Remy!" cried he, furious with terror; "it is I, Henri du Bouchage." "Oh! you need not name yourself, M. le Comte," answered Remy from within, "I recognized you long ago; but I warn you, that if you break in the door you will find me behind it, with a pistol in each hand." "But you do not understand," cried Henri; "the water; it is the water!" "No fables, no pretexts or dishonorable ruses, M. le Comte; I tell you that you will only enter over my body." "Then I will pass over it, but I will enter. In Heaven's name, in the name of your own safety and your mistress's, will you open?"--"No." Henri looked round him, and perceived an immense stone. He raised it and threw it against the door, which flew open. A ball passed over Henri's head, but without touching him; he jumped toward Remy, and seizing his other arm, cried, "Do you not see that I have no arms? do not defend yourself against a man who does not attack. Look! only look!" and he drew him to the window. "Well," said he, "do you see now?" and he pointed to the horizon. "The water!" cried Remy. "Yes, the water! it invades us; see, at our feet, the river overflows, and in five minutes we shall be surrounded." "Madame! madame!" cried Remy. "Do not frighten her, Remy; get ready the horses at once." Remy ran to the stable, and Henri flew up the staircase. At Remy's cry Diana had opened her door; Henri seized her in his arms and carried her away as he would have done a child. But she, believing in treason or violence, struggled, and clung to the staircase with all her might. "Tell her that I am saving her, Remy!" cried Henri. Remy heard the appeal, and cried: "Yes, yes, madame, he is saving you, or rather he will save you. Come, for Heaven's sake!" CHAPTER LXIX. FLIGHT. Henri, without losing time in reasoning with Diana, carried her out of the house, and wished to place her before him on his horse; but she, with a movement of invincible repugnance, glided from his arms, and was received by Remy, who placed her on her own horse. "Ah, madame!" cried Henri, "how little you understand my heart. It was not, believe me, for the pleasure of holding you in my arms, or pressing you to my heart, although for that favor I would sacrifice my life, but that we ought to fly as quickly as the birds, and look at them, how they fly!" Indeed, in the scarcely dawning light were seen large numbers of curlews and pigeons, traversing the air with a quick and frightened flight, which, in the night, usually abandoned to the silent bat, looked strange to the eye, and sounded sinister to the ear. Diana did not reply, but rode on without turning her head. Her horse, however, as well as that of Remy, was fatigued with their long journey, and Henri, as he turned back each moment, saw that they could not keep up with him.