And the sound
receded. It was thundering in retreat, and a curious thought came
to him. Providence had delivered him through the maelstrom. He had
not struck the rocks. He was saved. And in his arms he held
Jeanne.
It was day when he began the fight, broad day. And now it was
night. He felt earth, under his feet, and he knew that he had
brought Jeanne ashore. He heard her voice speaking his name; and
he was so glad that he laughed and sobbed like a babbling idiot.
It was dark, and he was tired. He sank down, and he could feel
Jeanne's arms striving to hold him up, and he could still hear her
voice. But nothing could keep him from sleeping. And during that
sleep he had visions. Now it was day, and he saw Jeanne's face
over him; again it was night, and he heard only the roaring of the
flood. Again he heard voices, Jeanne's voice and a man's, and he
wondered who the man could be. It was a strange sleep filled with
strange dreams. But at last the dreams seemed to go. He lost
himself. He awoke, and the night had turned into day. He was in a
tent, and the sun was gleaming on the outside. It had been a
curious dream, and he sat up astonished.
There was a man sitting beside him. It was Pierre.
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