"Go on," she shouted. "Don't wait for me, I can catch you up later."
"But it is impossible for me to leave you," he called back on regaining his breath. "But, oh! run if you can, for the water comes very near."
One more fleeting glance behind and Barbara broke into a run again, though her breath came in gasps.
"They are seeing us from the Mont," panted Jean. "They have come out to watch the tide rise. Give me your hand. Do not stop! Do not stop!"
Barbara felt that, do as she would, her breath could hold out no longer, and she slackened her pace to a walk once more. Then a great shout went up from the people on the ramparts, and they began waving their hands and handkerchiefs wildly. To them the two figures seemed to be moving so slowly and the great sea behind so terribly fast. Barbara could hear its swish, swish, near enough now, and she felt Jean's hand tremble in her own. "Run yourself," she said, dropping it. "Run, and I'll follow."
But he merely shook his head. To speak was waste of breath, and he meant his to last him till he reached the rocks.
He pulled the girl into a trot again, and they plodded on heavily. It was impossible for him to speak now, but he pointed at the rocks below St. Michel where two men were scrambling down, and Barbara understood that they were coming to aid.
The sea was very close—horribly close—when two fishermen met the couple, and, taking Barbara's hands on either side, pulled her on, while Jean panted a little way behind. The watching crowd above had been still with fear until they saw the rocks reached; then they shouted again and again, while the many who had scrambled down part of the way hastened forward to see who the adventurous couple were, and to give a helping hand if necessary.
One of the first to reach them was the little widower, his cravate loose, his hat off, and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Jean!" he wailed. "What have I done that you should treat me so? What would your sainted mother say were she to see you thus?"