"And those unhappy people below!" said Frederick, impatiently. "Shall we arrive in time? My God! Oh, if the men from the castle get there before we do!" The cart was at the farm; while they were putting provisions and coverings in the little boat, David asked André for a hedging knife, and went to select a long branch of the ash-tree, from which he cut about ten feet, light, supple, and easily handled. An iron hook, which had served as a pulley for a bucket, was solidly fastened to the end of this improvised instrument, which would answer to tow the boat from apparent obstacles, or to sustain it along the roof of the submerged house; the long well-rope was also laid in the little boat, as well as two or three light planks, solidly bound together, and capable of serving as a buoy of salvage in a desperate case. David occupied himself with these details, with thoughtful activity, and a fruitfulness in expedients, which surprised Madame Bastien as much as it did her son. When all was ready, David looked attentively at each article, and said to André: "Drive now as quick as possible to the shore; Frederick and I will join you, and will help you in unloading the boat and setting it afloat." The cart, moving along the edge of the forest where stood David, Frederick, and his mother, took the direction of the submerged plain, which could be seen at a great distance. The slope being quite steep, the horse began to trot. While the cart was on its way, David took the field-glass that he had left on one of the rustic benches in the grove, and looked for the farmhouse. The water was within two feet of the comb of the roof, where the farmer's family had taken refuge. David laid his field-glass on the bench, and said in a firm voice to Frederick: "My child, embrace your mother, and let us go; time presses." Marie trembled in every limb, and turned deadly pale. For a second there was in the soul of the young woman a terrible struggle between duty, which urged her to allow Frederick to accomplish a generous action at the risk of his life, and the voice of nature, which urged her to prevent her son's braving the danger of death. This struggle was so painful that Frederick, who had not taken his eyes from his mother, saw her grow weak, frightened at the thought of losing the son now so worthy of her love. So Marie, holding Frederick in her arms to prevent his departure, cried, with a heartrending voice: "No, no, I cannot let him go!" "Mother," said Frederick to her, in a low voice, "I once wished to kill, and there are people there whom I can save from death." Marie was heroic. "Go, my child; we will go together," said she. And she took a step which indicated her desire to go with the boat. "Madame," cried David, divining her purpose, "this is impossible!" "M. David, I will not abandon my son." "Mother!" "Where you go, Frederick, I will go."