The Seven Cardinal Sins: Envy and Indolence

"The overflow has had time to reach the house of Jean François, the farmer, a good, excellent man," cried Marie. "His wife, his children are lost."

"Where is this farmhouse, madame?" asked David.

"More than a mile from here in the flats. You can see it from the edge of the forest which overlooks the fields. Alas! you can see it if the overflow has not swept it away."

"Come, madame, come," said David, "we must run to find out where it is."

In an instant, Frederick, his mother, and David followed by the gardner and Marguerite arrived at the edge of the forest, a spot much higher than the valley.

What a spectacle!

As far as the eye could reach in the north and the east, one saw only an immense sheet of yellow, muddy water, cut at the horizon by a sky overcast with dark clouds rapidly hurried along by a freezing wind. At the west the forest of Pont Brillant was half submerged, while the tops of a few poplars on the plain could be discerned here and there in the middle of a motionless and limitless sea.

This devastation, slow and silent as the tomb, was even more terrible than the brilliant ravages of a conflagration.

For a moment the spectators of this awful disaster stood still in mute astonishment.

David, the first to recover from this unavailing grief, said to Madame Bastien:

"Madame, I will return in a moment."

Some minutes after he ran back, bringing an excellent field-glass that had served him in many a voyage.

"The fog on the water prevents my distinguishing objects at a great distance, madame," said David to Marie. "In what direction is the farmhouse you spoke of just now?"

"In the direction of those poplars down there on the left, M. David."

The preceptor directed his field-glass toward the point designated, carefully observing the scene for some minutes, then he cried:

"Ah! the unfortunate creatures!"

"Heaven, they are lost!" said Marie, quickly.

"The water has reached half-way up the roof of the house," said David. "They are on the roof clinging to the chimney. I see a man, a woman, and three children."

"My God!" cried Marie with clasped hands, falling on her knees with her eyes raised to heaven, "My God, help them, have pity on them!"

"And no means of saving them!" cried Frederick; "we can only groan over such a disaster."

"Poor Jean François, a good man," said André".

"To see his three little children die with him," sobbed Marguerite.

David, calm, grave, and silent, as was his habit in the hour of danger, struck his field-glass convulsively in the palm of his hand, and seemed to be lost in thought; all eyes were turned to him. Suddenly his brow cleared, and with that authority of accent and promptness of decision which distinguish the man made to command, he said to Marie:

"Madame, permit me to give orders here, the moments are precious."

"They will obey you as they obey me, M. David."

"André," called the preceptor, "get the cart and horse at once."

"Yes, M. David."

"On the pond not far from the house, I have seen a little boat; is it there still?"

"Yes, M. David."

"Is it light enough to be carried on the cart?"

"Certainly, M. David."

"Frederick and I will assist you in placing it there. Run and hitch up; we will join you."

André hurried to the stable.

"Now, madame," said David to Marie, "please have prepared immediately some bottles of wine and two or three coverings. We will carry them in the boat; for these poor people, if we succeed in saving them, will be dying of cold and want. Have some beds and a fire made ready, too, that every care can be given to them when we arrive. Now, Frederick, we will assist André, and go as quickly as possible to the pond."

While David hastily disappeared with Frederick, Madame Bastien and Marguerite eagerly executed David's orders.

The horse, promptly hitched to the cart, took David and Frederick to the pond.

"My friend," said the young man to his preceptor, his eyes glowing with ardour and impatience, "we will save these unfortunate people, will we not?"

"I hope so, my child, but the danger will be great; when we pass this stagnant water, we will enter the current of the overflow, and it must be as rapid as a torrent."

"Well, what matters danger, my friend?"

"We must know it to triumph over it, my child. Now, tell me," added David, with emotion, "do you not think that, in thus generously exposing your own life, you will more worthily expiate the dreadful deed you wished to commit, than by seeking a fruitless death in suicide?"

A passionate embrace on the part of Frederick made David see that he was understood.

The cart just at this moment crossed a highway in order to reach the pond in time.

A gendarme, urging his horse to a galop, arrived at full speed.

"Is the overflow still rising?" cried David to the soldier, making a sign to him with his hand to stop.

"The water is rising all the time, sir," replied the gendarme, panting for breath; "the embankments are just broken. There is thirty feet of water in the valley – the route to Pont Brillant is cut off – the only boat that we had for salvage has just capsized with those who manned it. All have perished, and I am hurrying to the castle for more men and boats."

And the soldier plunged his rowels into the horse, which was covered with foam, and galloped away.

"Oh!" cried Frederick, with enthusiasm, "we will arrive before the people from the castle, will we not?"

"You see, my child, envy has some good in it," said David, who penetrated the secret thought of Frederick.

The cart soon arrived at the pond. André, Frederick, and David easily placed the little boat on the conveyance. At the same time David, with that foresight which never forsook him, carefully examined the oars, and the tholes which serve to keep the oars in place.

"André," said he to the gardener, "have you a knife?"