A cock crowed--almost in his very ear, it seemed.

He lifted his head quickly, and a superstitious look flashed into his face.
His eyes fastened on the burnished head of the Cock among the ruins.
To his excited imagination it was as though the ancient symbol of the Barbilles had spoken to him in its own language of good cheer and defiance.

Yes, there it was, half covered by the ruins, but its head was erect in the midst of fire and disaster.

Brought low, it was still alert above the wreckage.

The child, the dreamer, the optimist, the egoist, and the man alive in Jean Jacques sprang into vigour again.