"As I told you, M. David, I seemed intoxicated, almost mad, for I do not recollect at what spot on the river I threw myself in. The cold in the water seized me, I thought I was going to die, and then I was afraid. Then the thought of my mother came back to me. I seemed to see her, as in a dream, throw herself upon my cold, dead body. I did not want to die, and I cried, 'My mother! my mother!' as I tried to save myself, for I know very well how to swim; but the cold made me numb, and I felt myself sinking to the bottom. As I heard the river roar above my head I made a desperate effort, and came to the surface of the water, and then I lost consciousness until I found myself here, M. David,--here where you have brought me,--saved me as if I were your child,--here, where my first thought has been of my mother." And Frederick, fatigued by the emotion of this recital, leaned his elbow on the bed where they had carried him, and remained silent, his head resting on his hand. CHAPTER XXVI. The conversation between David and Frederick was interrupted by the brickmaker, who entered the chamber, looking very much frightened. "Monsieur," said he, hurriedly, to David, "the cart is ready. Go quick." "What is the matter?" asked David. "The Loire is still rising, monsieur. Before two hours all my little furniture and effects will be swept away." "Do you fear an overflow?" "Perhaps, monsieur, for the rising of the waters is becoming frightful, and, if the Loire overflows, to-morrow nothing will be seen of my brick-kiln but the chimneys. So, for the sake of prudence, I must move you out. The cart which takes you home, will, on its return, carry my furniture away." "Come, my child," said David to Frederick, "have courage. You see we have not a moment to lose." "I am ready, M. David." "Fortunately our clothes are dry, thanks to this hot furnace. Lean on me, my child." As they left the house, Frederick said to the brickmaker: "Pardon me, sir, for not being able to thank you better for your kind attention, but I will return." "May Heaven bless you, my young gentleman, and grant that you may not find a mass of rubbish when you return to this place, instead of this house." David, without Frederick's knowledge, gave two gold pieces to the brickmaker, as he said, in a low voice: "That is for the cart." A few minutes elapsed, and the son of Madame Bastien left the brick-kiln with David in the rustic conveyance filled with a thick layer of straw, and covered over with a cloth, for the rain continued to fall in torrents. The cart driver, wrapped in a wagoner's coat, and seated on one of the shafts, urged the gait of the horse, that trotted slowly and heavily. David insisted that Frederick should lie down in the cart, and lean his head on his knees; thus seated in the back of the cart, he held the youth in a half embrace, and watched over him with paternal solicitude.