"Yes," repeated he, "look why those intelligent termites have
abandoned the ant-hill! They had felt the inundation beforehand. Ah!
instinct, my friends, instinct. The termites are wiser than we are,
much wiser."
And that was all the moral Cousin Benedict drew from the situation.
At that moment Dick Sand drew out the ramrod, which had penetrated the
wall. A hissing was produced. The water rose another foot inside the
cone--the hole had not reached the open air outside.
The situation was dreadful. Mrs. Weldon, then almost reached by the
water, had raised little Jack in her arms. All were stifling in this
narrow space. Their ears buzzed.
The lantern only threw a faint light.
"Is the cone, then, entirely under water?" murmured Dick Sand.
He must know; and, in order to know, he must pierce a third hole, at
the very top.
But it was asphyxia, it was immediate death, if the result of this
last attempt should prove fruitless. The air remaining inside would
escape through the upper sheet of water, and the water would fill the
whole cone.
"Mrs. Weldon," then said Dick Sand, "you know the situation. If we
delay, respirable air will fail us. If the third attempt fails, water
will fill all this space. Our only chance is that the summit of the
cone is above the level of the inundation.
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