The street was filling with people. A row of cottages across the way was
being emptied. The crackling flames were but half a square from
Manouvrier's house. I called him once more to come. He waved his hand
kindly to imply that he knew what I had done. He and his wife were in the
Sisters' front garden walk conversing eagerly with the Mother Superior.
They neared the gate. Suddenly the Mother Superior went back, the
lay-sister guarding the gate let the pair out and the three of us
hurried off together.
We found ourselves now in the uproar and vortex of the struggle. Only at
intervals could we take our attention from the turmoil that impeded or
threatened us, to glance forward at the white gable or back--as Manouvrier
persisted in doing--to the Sisters' cottage. Once I looked behind and
noticed, what I was loath to tell, that the firemen on its roof had grown
busy; but as I was about to risk the truth, the husband and wife, glancing
at their own roof, in one breath groaned aloud. Its gleaming gable had
begun to smoke.
"Ah! that good God have pity on uz!" cried the wife, in tears, but as she
started to run forward I caught her arm and bade her look again. A strong,
white stream of water was falling on the smoking spot and it smoked no
more.
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