A second scream, more piercing than the first, now sounded. “Oh, sir!” cried Olivain, “the rope which holds the ferryboat has broken and the boat is drifting. But what do I see in the water—something struggling?” “Oh, yes,” exclaimed Raoul, fixing his glance on one point in the stream, splendidly illumined by the setting sun, “a horse, a rider!” “They are sinking!” cried Olivain in his turn. It was true, and Raoul was convinced that some accident had happened and that a man was drowning; he gave his horse its head, struck his spurs into its sides, and the animal, urged by pain and feeling that he had space open before him, bounded over a kind of paling which inclosed the landing place, and fell into the river, scattering to a distance waves of white froth. “Ah, sir!” cried Olivain, “what are you doing? Good God!” Raoul was directing his horse toward the unhappy man in danger. This was, in fact, a custom familiar to him. Having been brought up on the banks of the Loire, he might have been said to have been cradled on its waves; a hundred times he had crossed it on horseback, a thousand times had swum across. Athos, foreseeing the period when he should make a soldier of the viscount, had inured him to all kinds of arduous undertakings. “Oh, heavens!” continued Olivain, in despair, “what would the count say if he only saw you now!” “The count would do as I do,” replied Raoul, urging his horse vigorously forward. “But I—but I,” cried Olivain, pale and disconsolate rushing about on the shore, “how shall I cross?” “Leap, coward!” cried Raoul, swimming on; then addressing the traveler, who was struggling twenty yards in front of him: “Courage, sir!” said he, “courage! we are coming to your aid.” Olivain advanced, retired, then made his horse rear—turned it and then, struck to the core by shame, leaped, as Raoul had done, only repeating: “I am a dead man! we are lost!” In the meantime, the ferryboat had floated away, carried down by the stream, and the shrieks of those whom it contained resounded more and more. A man with gray hair had thrown himself from the boat into the river and was swimming vigorously toward the person who was drowning; but being obliged to go against the current he advanced but slowly. Raoul continued his way and was visibly gaining ground; but the horse and its rider, of whom he did not lose sight, were evidently sinking. The nostrils of the horse were no longer above water, and the rider, who had lost the reins in struggling, fell with his head back and his arms extended. One moment longer and all would disappear. “Courage!” cried Raoul, “courage!” “Too late!” murmured the young man, “too late!” The water closed above his head and stifled his voice.