The woman did not hear him. She was quite distraught, and rushed without any apparent reason round the house, as though she were trying to discover some opening, some means of entrance which she must have known did not exist. Then she fell again. Her legs no longer had the strength to support her, and her ashy face showed all the agony of despair and terror, while she continued screaming: 'The child! the child!' Big tears rose to Pauline's eyes; but Lazare was even more painfully affected by the woman's cry, which completely unnerved him. It was becoming more than he could bear, and he suddenly exclaimed: 'I'll go and fetch your child!' His cousin looked at him in wild alarm. She grasped his hands and tried to hold him back. 'You! you mustn't go! The roof will fall in!' 'We'll see about that,' he replied quietly. Then he shouted in the woman's face: 'Your key! You've got your key with you, haven't you?' The woman still remained agape, but Lazare hustled her and at last wrung from her the key. Then, while the woman remained screaming on the ground, he stepped quietly towards the house. Pauline followed him with her eyes, rooted to the ground with fear and astonishment, but making no further attempt to detain him, for it seemed by his demeanour as though he were about to attend to some very ordinary business. A shower of sparks rained on him, and he had to squeeze himself closely against the door, for handfuls of burning straw fell from the roof, like water streaming down during a storm. Moreover, he found himself hindered by an annoying obstacle. The rusty key would not turn in the lock. But he manifested no irritation; coolly taking his time, he at last succeeded in opening the door. Then he lingered for a moment longer on the threshold, in order to let out the first rush of smoke, which blew in his face. Never before had he known such calmness; he moved as though he were in a dream, with all the assurance, skilfulness, and prudence which the danger he was encountering inspired. At last he lowered his head and disappeared within the cottage. 'O God! O God!' stammered Pauline, who was choking with anguish. She clasped her hands involuntarily, almost crushing them together as she moved them up and down, like one racked by great agony. The roof was cracking, and was already collapsing in places. Never would Lazare have time to make his escape. It seemed an eternity to her since he had entered. The woman on the ground had ceased crying; the sight of the gentleman rushing into the fire seemed to have stupefied her. But a piercing cry broke through the air. It had come involuntarily from Pauline, from the very depths of her being, as she saw the thatch fall in between the smoking walls: 'Lazare!' He was at the door, his hair scarcely singed and his hands but slightly scorched; and when he had tossed the child, who was struggling and crying, into the woman's arms, he almost became angry with his cousin: