“The count would do as I do,” replied Raoul, urging his horse vigorously forward.

“But I — but I,” cried Olivain, pale and disconsolate rushing about on the shore, “how shall I cross?”

“Leap, coward!” cried Raoul, swimming on; then addressing the traveler, who was struggling twenty yards in front of him: “Courage, sir!” said he, “courage! we are coming to your aid.”

Olivain advanced, retired, then made his horse rear — turned it and then, struck to the core by shame, leaped, as Raoul had done, only repeating:

“I am a dead man!

we are lost!”

In the