Cyprien could hardly draw a breath without pain, for the dog had wounded him on the throat.
The Marquis was enraged with himself that he had taken no arms with him. He had supposed that he would not have the smallest difficulty in bending the old man to his will. Why had he not leaped at the fellow's throat when he opened the door?
They had reached the rocks near the cataract, when Cyprien, seizing the arm of the Marquis, cried:
"Listen!"
The cataract roared through the narrow passage, but this was not all. What was that sound of crashing rocks? They soon discovered. Huge blocks of granite had rolled down from above, diverting the course of the water, which now tumbled down on the highway like a sheet of foam. And what was this behind them? Another great sheet of water coming on. The flood was pursuing them. The two men began to run. Suddenly the Marquis stumbled and fell. The water swept over him and carried him toward the abyss.
"Help! Help!" cried Fongereues.
Cyprien gathered together all his strength for one mighty effort—he was saved!
The Marquis clung to the trunk of a pine tree that grew close to the precipice. The water rolled over his head and blinded him, but did not succeed in washing him away. Suddenly, from the summit of the rocks, came a voice.
"Courage!" it cried, "courage!"
The voice came from a man, but how did any man maintain a foothold there? He descended the rock, crying all the time: "Courage! Courage!" Suddenly his hands ceased to clutch the rocks, and he dropped. The water rose to his knees, but tempestuous as was the rush, he maintained his footing.