I reasoned rapidly, and as follows;—The life-preserver—a very small one—will not sustain us both! What if I fasten it upon her, and swim alongside? A little help from it now and then will be sufficient to keep me afloat. I am a good swimmer. How far is it to the shore?
I looked in that direction. The glare of the blazing boat lit up the water to a wide circumference. I could see the brown bank distinctly. It was full a quarter of a mile distant, with a sharp cross-current running between it and the wreck.
“Surely I can swim it?” thought I: “sink or swim, I shall make the attempt to save her!”
I will not deny that other reflections passed through my mind as I was forming this resolve. I will not deny that there was a little French gallantry mixed up with better motives. Instead of being young and lovely, had Mademoiselle Besançon been old and plain, I think—that is—I—I fear—she would have been left to Antoine and his raft of chairs! As it was, my resolve was made; and I had no time to reflect upon motives.
“Mademoiselle Besançon!” I called out of the door.
“Ha! Some one calls me;” said she, turning suddenly. “Mon Dieu! who is there?”
“One who, Mademoiselle—”
“Peste!” muttered the old steward, angrily, as his eyes fell upon my face. He was under the belief that I wished to share his raft.
“Peste!” he repeated; “’twill not carry two, monsieur.”
“Nor one,” I replied. “Mademoiselle,” I continued, addressing myself to the lady; “those chairs will not serve,—they will rather be the means of drowning you,—here—take this! it will save your life.”