“There is room for at least one more!” called Pierre Menard.

Captain Saucier stood irresolute.

“Can you not trust me with these fragments of our families?” said Rice.

“Certainly, Monsieur Reece, certainly.  It is not that.  But you see the water is still rising.”

“I was testing the rise of the water when Colonel Menard reached us.  The wind makes it seem higher than it really is.  You can go and return, captain, while you are hesitating.”

“I am torn in two,” declared the Indian fighter.  “It makes a child of me to leave Angelique behind.”

“Francis Saucier,” came in shrill French from the screens, “get into that boat, and leave my godchild alone.”

The captain laughed.  He also kissed the cheeks of tante-gra’mere’s godchild and let himself slide down the roof, and the boat was off directly.

The slaves, before returning to their own room, again fastened the sashes of the dormer window.  The clamor of bells which seemed to pour through the open window was thus partly silenced.  The lantern made its dim illumination with specks of light, swinging from a nail over the window alcove.  Maria had not yet unclosed her eyes.  Her wasted hand made a network around one of Rice’s fingers, and as the coughing spasm seized her she tightened it.

“She wants air,” he said hastily, and Angelique again spread wide the window in the gable, when the thin cry of her tante-gra’mere forbade it.

“But, dear tante-gra’mere, Mademoiselle Zhone must have air.”

“And must she selfishly give me rheumatism in order to give herself air?”

“But, dear tante-gra’mere”—­

“Shut that window.”

“I dare not, indeed.”

Rice seized two corners of the feather pallet, and made it travel in a swift swish across the attic boards to the window at the front, which he opened.  Supporting Maria in his arms, he signaled Angelique, with an amused face, to obey her tyrant; and she did so.  But Peggy stalked behind the screens, and put her face close to the black eyes in the great soft lair built up of so many beds.

“You and I are nice people, madame,” said Peggy through her teeth.  “We don’t care who suffers, if we are happy.  We ought to have been twins; the same little beast lives in us both.”

Tante-gra’mere’s eyes snapped.

“You are a limb,” she responded in shrill French.

“Yes; we know each other,” said Peggy.

“When you are old, there will come a little wretch to revile you.”

“I don’t revile you, madame.  I dote on you.”

“Your mother should box your ears, mademoiselle.”

“It would do me no good, madame.”

“I should like to try it,” said tante-gra’mere, without humor.