Catherine was leaning her aching head against the seam, when she sat up with a start.
"Listen!" she said.
At first Étienne thought she was speaking of the low noise of the ever-rising water. He lied in order to quiet her.
"It's me you hear; I'm moving my legs."
"No, no; not that! Over there, listen!"
And she placed her ear to the coal. He understood, and did likewise. They waited for some seconds, with stifled breath. Then, very far away and very weak, they heard three blows at long intervals. But they still doubted; their ears were ringing; perhaps it was the cracking of the soil. And they knew not what to strike with in answer.
Étienne had an idea.
"You have the sabots. Take them off and strike with the heels."
She struck, beating the miner's call; and they listened and again distinguished the three blows far off. Twenty times over they did it, and twenty times the blows replied. They wept and embraced each other, at the risk of losing their balance. At last the mates were there, they were coming. An overflowing joy and love carried away the torments of expectation and the rage of their vain appeals, as though their rescuers had only to split the rock with a finger to deliver them.
"Eh!" she cried merrily; "wasn't it lucky that I leant my head?"