Groping about in the muddy water she retrieved her paper-wrapped package and tucked it under her arm.
Her next task was a survey of her temporary prison. She was in no great danger, but the water was frightfully cold.
“Must get out of here some way,” she told herself. “Besides, there’s Petite Jeanne. She’ll fret her poor little heart.”
Had she but known!
Slowly she made her way about, feeling the walls of her strange prison. Everywhere the walls were too high. Even by leaping she could not grasp them.
“And if that were possible,” she told herself, “I could not climb up without some foothold.”
It was a foothold she sought. “Only some cleats or patches, or a rusty chain dangling down,” she all but prayed. Her prayer was not answered.
“Oh, well,” she sighed. And with that, propping herself in a corner, she stood first on one foot, then on the other, and almost fell asleep.
But what was this? Did she catch the sound of footsteps? Yes. She was sure of it, light footsteps as of a woman. She knew not whether to tremble or rejoice.
The sound grew louder, then ceased.