The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. . It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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