"Certainly!" he replied, as if almost insulted by the question.
"What must we do?" inquired Madame des Arcis.
"Place yourself upon my shoulders," replied the ferryman, "and put your arms about my neck. As for the little one, I will hold her in one hand, and swim with the other, and she shall not get drowned. It is but a short distance from here to the potatoes which grow in yonder field."
"And Jean?" asked Madame, meaning the coachman.
"Jean will be all right, I hope. If he holds on at the weir, I will return for him."
Père Georgeot struck out with his double burden, but he had over-estimated his powers. He was no longer young. The shore was farther off, the current stronger than he had thought. He struggled manfully, but was nearly swept away. Then the trunk of a willow, hidden by the water and the darkness, stopped him suddenly with a violent blow upon the forehead. Blood flowed from the wound and obscured his vision.
"Could you save my child if you had only her to convey?" asked the mother.
"I cannot tell, but I think so," said the ferryman.
The mother removed her arms from the man's neck, and let herself slip gently into the water.
When the ferryman had deposited Camille safely on terra firma, the coachman, who had been rescued by a peasant, helped him to search for the body of Madame des Arcis. It was found on the following morning, near the bank.