AN ICELAND FISHERMAN

By Pierre Loti

Translated by M. Jules Cambon

PIERRE LOTI

The first appearance of Pierre Loti's works, twenty years ago, causeda sensation throughout those circles wherein the creations of intellectand imagination are felt, studied, and discussed. The author was onewho, with a power which no one had wielded before him, carried off hisreaders into exotic lands, and whose art, in appearance most simple, proved a genuine enchantment for the imagination. It was the time whenM. Zola and his school stood at the head of the literary movement. Therebreathed forth from Loti's writings an all-penetrating fragranceof poesy, which liberated French literary ideals from the heavyand oppressive yoke of the Naturalistic school. Truth now soared onunhampered pinions, and the reading world was completely won by theunsurpassed intensity and faithful accuracy with which he depicted thealluring charms of far-off scenes, and painted the naive soul of theraces that seem to endure in the isles of the Pacific as survivingrepresentatives of the world's infancy. 

It was then learned that this independent writer was named in real lifeLouis Marie Julien Viaud, and that he was a naval officer. This veryfact, that he was not a writer by profession, added indeed to hissuccess. He actually had seen that which he was describing, he had livedthat which he was relating. What in any other man would have seemedbut research and oddity, remained natural in the case of a sailor whoreturned each year with a manuscript in his hand. Africa, Asia, theisles of the Pacific, were the usual scenes of his dramas. Finallyfrom France itself, and from the oldest provinces of France, he drewsubject-matter for two of his novels, _An Iceland Fisherman_ and_Ramuntcho_. This proved a surprise. Our Breton sailors and our Basquemountaineers were not less foreign to the Parisian drawing-room thanwas Aziyade or the little Rahahu. One claimed to have a knowledgeof Brittany, or of the Pyrenees, because one had visited Dinard orBiarritz; while in reality neither Tahiti nor the Isle of Paques couldhave remained more completely unknown to us. 

The developments of human industry have brought the extremities of theworld nearer together; but the soul of each race continues to cloakitself in its own individuality and to remain a mystery to the rest ofthe world. One trait alone is common to all: the infinite sadness ofhuman destiny. This it was that Loti impressed so vividly on the readingworld. 

His success was great. Though a young man as yet, Loti saw his workcrowned with what in France may be considered the supreme sanction: hewas elected to membership in the French Academy. His name became coupledwith those of Bernardin de St. Pierre and of Chateaubriand. With thesole exception of the author of _Paul and Virginia_ and of the writer of_Atala_, he seemed to be one without predecessor and without a master. It may be well here to inquire how much reason there is for thisassertion, and what novel features are presented in his work. 

It has become a trite saying that French genius lacks the sense ofNature, that the French tongue is colourless, and therefore wants themost striking feature of poetry. If we abandoned for one moment thedomain of letters and took a comprehensive view of the field of art, wemight be permitted to express astonishment at the passing of so summarya judgment on the genius of a nation which has, in the real sense of theterm, produced two such painters of Nature as Claude Lorrain and Corot. But even in the realm of letters it is easily seen that this mode ofthinking is due largely to insufficient knowledge of the language'sresources, and to a study of French literature which does not extendbeyond the seventeenth century. Without going back to the Duke ofOrleans and to Villon, one need only read a few of the poets of thesixteenth century to be struck by the prominence given to Nature intheir writings. Nothing is more delightful than Ronsard's word-paintingsof his sweet country of Vendome. Until the day of Malherbe, the didacticRegnier and the Calvinistic Marot are the only two who could be said togive colour to the preconceived and prevalent notion as to the drynessof French poetry. And even after Malherbe, in the seventeenth century, we find that La Fontaine, the most truly French of French writers, wasa passionate lover of Nature. He who can see nothing in the latter'sfables beyond the little dramas which they unfold and the ordinary moralwhich the poet draws therefrom, must confess that he fails to understandhim. His landscapes possess precision, accuracy, and life, while such isthe fragrance of his speech that it seems laden with the fresh perfumeof the fields and furrows. 

Racine himself, the most penetrating and the most psychological ofpoets, is too well versed in the human soul not to have felt itsintimate union with Nature. His magnificent verse in Phedre, "Ah, que ne suis-je assise a l'ombre des forets!"

is but the cry of despair, the appeal, filled with anguish, of a heartthat is troubled and which oft has sought peace and alleviation amid thecold indifference of inanimate things. The small place given to Naturein the French literature of the seventeenth century is not to beascribed to the language nor explained by a lack of sensibility on thepart of the race. The true cause is to be found in the spirit of thatperiod; for investigation will disclose that the very same conditionthen characterized the literatures of England, of Spain, and of Italy. 

We must bear in mind that, owing to an almost unique combination ofcircumstances, there never has been a period when man was more convincedof the nobility and, I dare say it, of the sovereignty of man, or wasmore inclined to look upon the latter as a being independent of theexternal world. He did not suspect the intimately close bonds whichunite the creature to the medium in which it lives. A man of the worldin the seventeenth century was utterly without a notion of those truthswhich in their ensemble constitute the natural sciences. He crossedthe threshold of life possessed of a deep classical instruction, andall-imbued with stoical ideas of virtue. At the same time, he hadreceived the mould of a strong but narrow Christian education, in whichnothing figured save his relations with God. This twofold trainingelevated his soul and fortified his will, but wrenched him violentlyfrom all communion with Nature. This is the standpoint from whichwe must view the heroes of Corneille, if we would understand thoseextraordinary souls which, always at the highest degree of tension, denythemselves, as a weakness, everything that resembles tenderness or pity. Again, thus and thus alone can we explain how Descartes, and with himall the philosophers of his century, ran counter to all common sense, and refused to recognise that animals might possess a soul-likeprinciple which, however remotely, might link them to the human being. 

When, in the eighteenth century, minds became emancipated from thenarrow restrictions of religious discipline, and when method wasintroduced into the study of scientific problems, Nature took herrevenge as well in literature as in all other fields of human thought. Rousseau it was who inaugurated the movement in France, and the whole ofEurope followed in the wake of France. It may even be declared that thereaction against the seventeenth century was in many respects excessive, for the eighteenth century gave itself up to a species of sentimentaldebauch. It is none the less a fact that the author of _La NouvelleHeloise_ was the first to blend the moral life of man with his exteriorsurroundings. He felt the savage beauty and grandeur of the mountainsof Switzerland, the grace of the Savoy horizons, and the more familiarelegance of the Parisian suburbs. We may say that he opened the eyeof humanity to the spectacle which the world offered it. In Germany, Lessing, Goethe, Hegel, Schelling have proclaimed him their master;while even in England, Byron, and George Eliot herself, have recognisedall that they owed to him. 

The first of Rosseau's disciples in France was Bernardin de St. Pierre, whose name has frequently been recalled in connection with Loti. Indeed, the charming masterpiece of _Paul and Virginia_ was the first exampleof exoticism in literature; and thereby it excited the curiosity ofour fathers at the same time that it dazzled them by the wealth andbrilliancy of its descriptions. 

Then came Chateaubriand; but Nature with him was not a mere background. He sought from it an accompaniment, in the musical sense of the term, tothe movements of his soul; and being somewhat prone to melancholy, histaste seems to have favoured sombre landscapes, stormy and tragical. Theentire romantic school was born from him, Victor Hugo and George Sand, Theophile Gautier who draws from the French tongue resources unequalledin wealth and colour, and even M. Zola himself, whose naturalism, afterall, is but the last form and, as it were, the end of romanticism, sinceit would be difficult to discover in him any characteristic that did notexist, as a germ at least, in Balzac. 

I have just said that Chateaubriand sought in Nature an accompaniment tothe movements of his soul: this was the case with all the romanticists. We do not find Rene, Manfred, Indiana, living in the midst of a tranquiland monotonous Nature. The storms of heaven must respond to the stormsof their soul; and it is a fact that all these great writers, Byron aswell as Victor Hugo, have not so much contemplated and seen Nature asthey have interpreted it through the medium of their own passions;and it is in this sense that the keen Amiel could justly remark that alandscape is a condition or a state of the soul. 

M. Loti does not merely interpret a landscape; though perhaps, to beginwith, he is unconscious of doing more. With him, the human being is apart of Nature, one of its very expressions, like animals and plants, mountain forms and sky tints. His characters are what they are onlybecause they issue forth from the medium in which they live. They aretruly creatures, and not gods inhabiting the earth. Hence their profoundand striking reality. 

Hence also one of the peculiar characteristics of Loti's workers. Heloves to paint simple souls, hearts close to Nature, whose primitivepassions are singularly similar to those of animals. He is happy in theisles of the Pacific or on the borders of Senegal; and when he shiftshis scenes into old Europe it is never with men and women of the worldthat he entertains us. 

What we call a man of the world is the same everywhere; he is mouldedby the society of men, but Nature and the universe have no place inhis life and thought. M. Paul Bourget's heroes might live withoutdistinction in Newport or in Monte Carlo; they take root nowhere, butlive in the large cities, in winter resorts and in drawing-rooms astransient visitors in temporary abiding-places. 

Loti seeks his heroes and his heroines among those antique races ofEurope which have survived all conquests, and which have preserved, with their native tongue, the individuality of their character. He metRamuntcho in the Basque country, but dearer than all to him is Brittany:here it was that he met his Iceland fishermen. 

The Breton soul bears an imprint of Armorica's primitive soil: it ismelancholy and noble. There is an undefinable charm about those aridlands and those sod-flanked hills of granite, whose sole horizon is thefar-stretching sea. Europe ends here, and beyond remains only the broadexpanse of the ocean. The poor people who dwell here are silent andtenacious: their heart is full of tenderness and of dreams. Yann, theIceland fisherman, and his sweetheart, Gaud of Paimpol, can only livehere, in the small houses of Brittany, where people huddle together ina stand against the storms which come howling from the depths of theAtlantic. 

Loti's novels are never complicated with a mass of incidents. Thecharacters are of humble station and their life is as simple as theirsoul. _Aziyade_, _The Romance of a Spahi_, _An Iceland Fisherman_, _Ramuntcho_, all present the story of a love and a separation. Adeparture, or death itself, intervenes to put an end to the romance. But the cause matters little; the separation is the same; the hearts arebroken; Nature survives; it covers over and absorbs the miserable ruinswhich we leave behind us. No one better than Loti has ever brought outthe frailty of all things pertaining to us, for no one better than hehas made us realize the persistency of life and the indifference ofNature. 

This circumstance imparts to the reading of M. Loti's works a characterof peculiar sadness. The trend of his novels is not one that incitescuriosity; his heroes are simple, and the atmosphere in which theylive is foreign to us. What saddens us is not their history, but theundefinable impression that our pleasures are nothing and that we arebut an accident. This is a thought common to the degree of tritenessamong moralists and theologians; but as they present it, it fails tomove us. It troubles us as presented by M. Loti, because he has knownhow to give it all the force of a sensation. 

How has he accomplished this?

He writes with extreme simplicity, and is not averse to the use ofvague and indefinite expressions. And yet the wealth and precision ofGautier's and Hugo's language fail to endow their landscapes with thestriking charm and intense life which are to be found in those of Loti. I can find no other reason for this than that which I have suggestedabove: the landscape, in Hugo's and in Gautier's scenes, is a backgroundand nothing more; while Loti makes it the predominating figure of hisdrama. Our sensibilities are necessarily aroused before this apparitionof Nature, blind, inaccessible, and all-powerful as the Fates of old. 

It may prove interesting to inquire how Loti contrived to sound such anew note in art. 

He boasted, on the day of his reception into the French Academy, thathe had never read. Many protested, some smiled, and a large number ofpersons refused to believe the assertion. Yet the statement was actuallyquite credible, for the foundation and basis of M. Loti rest on a naivesimplicity which makes him very sensitive to the things of the outsideworld, and gives him a perfect comprehension of simple souls. He is nota reader, for he is not imbued with book notions of things; his ideasof them are direct, and everything with him is not memory, but reflectedsensation. 

On the other hand, that sailor-life which had enabled him to see theworld, must have confirmed in him this mental attitude. The deck officerwho watches the vessel's course may do nothing which could distract hisattention; but while ever ready to act and always unoccupied, he thinks, he dreams, he listens to the voices of the sea; and everything about himis of interest to him, the shape of the clouds, the aspect of skies andwaters. He knows that a mere board's thickness is all that separates himand defends him from death. Such is the habitual state of mind which M. Loti has brought to the colouring of his books. 

He has related to us how, when still a little child, he first beheldthe sea. He had escaped from the parental home, allured by the brisk andpungent air and by the "peculiar noise, at once feeble and great, " whichcould be heard beyond little hills of sand to which led a certain path. He recognised the sea; "before me something appeared, something sombreand noisy, which had loomed up from all sides at once, and which seemedto have no end; a moving expanse which struck me with mortal vertigo;. . . Above was stretched out full a sky all of one piece, of a dark graycolour like a heavy mantle; very, very far away, in unmeasurable depthsof horizon, could be seen a break, an opening between sea and sky, a long empty crack, of a light pale yellow. " He felt a sadnessunspeakable, a sense of desolate solitude, of abandonment, of exile. Heran back in haste to unburden his soul upon his mother's bosom, and, as he says, "to seek consolation with her for a thousand anticipated, indescribable pangs, which had wrung my heart at the sight of that vastgreen, deep expanse. "

A poet of the sea had been born, and his genius still bears a trace ofthe shudder of fear experienced that evening by Pierre Loti the littlechild. 

Loti was born not far from the ocean, in Saintonge, of an old Huguenotfamily which had numbered many sailors among its members. While yeta mere child he thumbed the old Bible which formerly, in the days ofpersecution, had been read only with cautious secrecy; and he perusedthe vessel's ancient records wherein mariners long since gone had noted, almost a century before, that "the weather was good, " that "the windwas favourable, " and that "doradoes or gilt-heads were passing near theship. "

He was passionately fond of music. He had few comrades, and hisimagination was of the exalted kind. His first ambition was to be aminister, then a missionary; and finally he decided to become a sailor. He wanted to see the world, he had the curiosity of things; he wasinclined to search for the strange and the unknown; he must seek thatsensation, delightful and fascinating to complex souls, of betakinghimself off, of withdrawing from his own world, of breaking with his ownmode of life, and of creating for himself voluntary regrets. 

He felt in the presence of Nature a species of disquietude, andexperienced therefrom sensations which might almost be expressed incolours: his head, he himself states, "might be compared to a camera, filled with sensitive plates. " This power of vision permitted him toapprehend only the appearance of things, not their reality; he wasconscious of the nothingness of nothing, of the dust of dust. Theremnants of his religious education intensified still more this distastefor the external world. 

He was wont to spend his summer vacation in the south of France, and hepreserved its warm sunny impressions. It was only later that he becameacquainted with Brittany. She inspired him at first with a feeling ofoppression and of sadness, and it was long before he learned to loveher. 

Thus was formed and developed, far from literary circles and fromParisian coteries, one of the most original writers that had appearedfor a long time. He noted his impressions while touring the world; onefine morning he published them, and from the very first the readingpublic was won. He related his adventures and his own romance. Thequestion could then be raised whether his skill and art would prove asconsummate if he should deviate from his own personality to write whatmight be termed impersonal poems; and it is precisely in this lastdirection that he subsequently produced what are now considered hismasterpieces. 

A strange writer assuredly is this, at once logical and illusive, whomakes us feel at the same time the sensation of things and that of theirnothingness. Amid so many works wherein the luxuries of the Orient, thequasi animal life of the Pacific, the burning passions of Africa, arepainted with a vigour of imagination never witnessed before his advent, _An Iceland Fisherman_ shines forth with incomparable brilliancy. Something of the pure soul of Brittany is to be found in thesemelancholy pages, which, so long as the French tongue endures, mustevoke the admiration of artists, and must arouse the pity and stir theemotions of men. 

JULES CAMBON. 

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

The real name of PIERRE LOTI is LOUIS MARIE JULIEN VIAUD. He was bornof Protestant parents, in the old city of Rochefort, on the 14th ofJanuary, 1850. In one of his pleasant volumes of autobiography, "Le Roman d'un Enfant, " he has given a very pleasing account of hischildhood, which was most tenderly cared for and surrounded withindulgences. At a very early age he began to develop that extremesensitiveness to external influences which has distinguished him eversince. He was first taught at a school in Rochefort, but at the ageof seventeen, being destined for the navy, he entered the great Frenchnaval school, Le Borda, and has gradually risen in his profession. His pseudonym is said to have had reference to his extreme shyness andreserve in early life, which made his comrades call him after "le Loti, "an Indian flower which loves to blush unseen. He was never given tobooks or study (when he was received at the French Academy, he hadthe courage to say, "Loti ne sait pas lire"), and it was not until histhirtieth year that he was persuaded to write down and publish certaincurious experiences at Constantinople, in "Aziyade, " a book which, like so many of Loti's, seems half a romance, half an autobiography. He proceeded to the South Seas, and, on leaving Tahiti, published thePolynesian idyl, originally called "Raharu, " which was reprinted as "LeMariage de Loti" (1880), and which first introduced to the wider publican author of remarkable originality and charm. Loti now became extremelyprolific, and in a succession of volumes chronicled old exotic memoriesor manipulated the journal of new travels. "Le Roman d'un Spahi, " arecord of the melancholy adventures of a soldier in Senegambia, belongsto 1881. In 1882 Loti issued a collection of short studies under thegeneral title of "Fleurs d'Ennui. " In 1883 he achieved the widestcelebrity, for not only did he publish "Mon Frere Yves, " a noveldescribing the life of a French bluejacket in all parts of theworld--perhaps, on the whole, to this day his most characteristicproduction--but he was involved in a public discussion in a mannerwhich did him great credit. While taking part as a naval officer inthe Tonquin war, Loti had exposed in a Parisian newspaper a series ofscandals which succeeded on the capture of Hue, and, being recalled, hewas now suspended from the service for more than a year. He continuedfor some time nearly silent, but in 1886, he published a novel of lifeamong the Breton fisher-folk, entitled "Pecheurs d'Islande"; this hasbeen the most popular of all his writings. In 1887 he brought out avolume of extraordinary merit, which has never received the attention itdeserves; this is "Propos d'Exil, " a series of short studies of exoticplaces, in Loti's peculiar semi-autobiographic style. The fantasticromance of Japanese manners, "Madame Chrysantheme, " belongs to the sameyear. Passing over one or two slighter productions, we come to 1890, to "Au Maroc, " the record of a journey to Fez in company with aFrench embassy. A collection of strangely confidential and sentimentalreminiscences, called "Le Livre de la Pitie et de la Mort, " belongs to1891. Loti was on board his ship at the port of Algiers when news wasbrought to him of his election, on the 21st of May, 1891, to the FrenchAcademy. Since he has become an Immortal the literary activity of PierreLoti has somewhat declined. In 1892 he published "Fantome d'Orient, "another dreamy study of life in Constantinople, a sort of continuationof "Aziyade. " He has described a visit to the Holy Land in threevolumes, "Le Desert, " "Jerusalem, " "La Galilee" (1895-96), and he haswritten one novel, "Ramentcho" (1897), a story of manners in the Basqueprovince, which is quite on a level with his best work. In 1898 hecollected his later essays as "Figures et Choses qui passaient. " In1899-1900 Loti visited British India, and in the autumn of the latteryear China; and he has described what he saw there, after the seige, ina charming volume, "Derniers Jours de Pekin, " 1902. 

E. G. 

AN ICELAND FISHERMAN

by Pierre Loti

PART 1 -- ON THE ICY SEA

CHAPTER I--THE FISHERMEN

There they were, five huge, square-built seamen, drinking away togetherin the dismal cabin, which reeked of fish-pickle and bilge-water. Theoverhead beams came down too low for their tall statures, and roundedoff at one end so as to resemble a gull's breast, seen from within. The whole rolled gently with a monotonous wail, inclining one slowly todrowsiness. 

Outside, beyond doubt, lay the sea and the night; but one could not bequite sure of that, for a single opening in the deck was closed byits weather-hatch, and the only light came from an old hanging-lamp, swinging to and fro. A fire shone in the stove, at which their saturatedclothes were drying, and giving out steam that mingled with the smokefrom their clay pipes. 

Their massive table, fitted exactly to its shape, occupied the wholespace; and there was just enough room for moving around and sitting uponthe narrow lockers fastened to the sides. Thick beams ran above them, very nearly touching their heads, and behind them yawned the berths, apparently hollowed out of the solid timbers, like recesses of a vaultwherein to place the dead. All the wainscoting was rough and worn, impregnated with damp and salt, defaced and polished by the continualrubbings of their hands. 

They had been drinking wine and cider in their pannikins, and the sheerenjoyment of life lit up their frank, honest faces. Now, they lingeredat table chatting, in Breton tongue, on women and marriage. A chinastatuette of the Virgin Mary was fastened on a bracket against themidship partition, in the place of honour. This patron saint of oursailors was rather antiquated, and painted with very simple art; yetthese porcelain images live much longer than real men, and her red andblue robe still seemed very fresh in the midst of the sombre greys ofthe poor wooden box. She must have listened to many an ardent prayer indeadly hours; at her feet were nailed two nosegays of artificial flowersand a rosary. 

These half-dozen men were dressed alike; a thick blue woollen jerseyclung to the body, drawn in by the waist-belt; on the head was worn thewaterproof helmet, known as the sou'-wester. These men were of differentages. The skipper might have been about forty; the three others betweentwenty-five and thirty. The youngest, whom they called Sylvestre or"Lurlu, " was only seventeen, yet already a man for height and strength;a fine curly black beard covered his cheeks; still he had childlikeeyes, bluish-grey in hue, and sweet and tender in expression. 

Huddled against one another, for want of space, they seemed to feeldownright comfort, snugly packed in their dark home. 

Outside spread the ocean and night--the infinite solitude of darkfathomless waters. A brass watch, hung on the wall, pointed to eleveno'clock--doubtless eleven at night--and upon the deck pattered thedrizzling rain. 

Among themselves, they treated these questions of marriage very merrily;but without saying anything indecent. No, indeed, they only sketchedplans for those who were still bachelors, or related funny storieshappening at home at wedding-feasts. Sometimes with a happy laugh theymade some rather too free remarks about the fun in love-making. Butlove-making, as these men understand it, is always a healthy sensation, and for all its coarseness remains tolerably chaste. 

But Sylvestre was worried, because a mate called Jean (which Bretonspronounce "Yann") did not come down below. Where could Yann be, by theway? was he lashed to his work on deck? Why did he not come below totake his share in their feast?

"It's close on midnight, hows'ever, " observed the captain; and drawinghimself up he raised the scuttle with his head, so as to call Yann thatway. 

Then a weird glimmer fell from above. 

"Yann! Yann! Look alive, matey!"

"Matey" answered roughly from outside while through the half-openedhatchway the faint light kept entering like that of dawn. Nearlymidnight, yet it looked like a peep of day, or the light of the starrygloaming, sent from afar through mystic lenses of magicians. 

When the aperture closed, night reigned again, save for the small lamp, "sended" now and again aside, which shed its yellow light. A man inclogs was heard coming down the wooden steps. 

He entered bent in two like a big bear, for he was a giant. At firsthe made a wry face, holding his nose, because of the acrid smell of thesouse. 

He exceeded a little too much the ordinary proportions of man, especially in breadth, though he was straight as a poplar. When he facedyou the muscles of his shoulders, moulded under his blue jersey, stoodout like great globes at the tops of his arms. His large brown eyes werevery mobile, with a grand, wild expression. 

Sylvestre threw his arms round Yann, and drew him towards him tenderly, after the fashion of children. Sylvestre was betrothed to Yann's sister, and he treated him as an elder brother, of course. And Yann allowedhimself to be pulled about like a young lion, answering by a kind smilethat showed his white teeth. These were somewhat far apart, and appearedquite small. His fair moustache was rather short, although never cut. It was tightly curled in small rolls above his lips, which were mostexquisitely and delicately modelled, and then frizzed off at the ends oneither side of the deep corners of his mouth. The remainder of his beardwas shaven, and his highly coloured cheeks retained a fresh bloom likethat of fruit never yet handled. 

When Yann was seated, the mugs were filled up anew. 

The lighting of all the pipes was an excuse for the cabin boy to smokea few wiffs himself. He was a robust little fellow, with round cheeks--akind of little brother to them all, more or less related to one anotheras they were; otherwise his work had been hard enough for the darling ofthe crew. Yann let him drink out of his own glass before he was sent tobed. Thereupon the important topic of marriage was revived. 

"But I say, Yann, " asked Sylvestre, "when are we going to celebrate yourwedding?"

"You ought to be ashamed, " said the master; "a hulking chap like you, twenty-seven years old and not yet spliced; ho, ho! What must the lassesthink of you when they see you roll by?"

Yann answered by snapping his thick fingers with a contemptuous look forthe women folk. He had just worked off his five years' government navalservice; and it was as master-gunner of the fleet that he had learned tospeak good French and hold sceptical opinions. He hemmed and hawedand then rattled off his latest love adventure, which had lasted afortnight. 

It happened in Nantes, a Free-and-Easy singer for the heroine. Oneevening, returning from the waterside, being slightly tipsy, he hadentered the music hall. At the door stood a woman selling big bouquetsat twenty francs apiece. He had bought one without quite knowing whathe should do with it, and before he was much more than in had thrown itwith great force at the vocalist upon the stage, striking her full inthe face, partly as a rough declaration of love, partly through disgustfor the painted doll that was too pink for his taste. The blow hadfelled the woman to the boards, and--she worshipped him during the threefollowing weeks. 

"Why, bless ye, lads, when I left she made me this here present of areal gold watch. "

The better to show it them he threw it upon the table like a worthlesstoy. 

This was told with coarse words and oratorical flourishes of his own. Yet this commonplace of civilized life jarred sadly among suchsimple men, with the grand solemnity of the ocean around them; in theglimmering of midnight, falling from above, was an impression of thefleeting summers of the far north country. 

These ways of Yann greatly pained and surprised Sylvestre. He wasa girlish boy, brought up in respect for holy things, by an oldgrandmother, the widow of a fisherman in the village of Ploubazlanec. As a tiny child he used to go every day with her to kneel and tell hisbeads over his mother's grave. From the churchyard on the cliff thegrey waters of the Channel, wherein his father had disappeared in ashipwreck, could be seen in the far distance. 

As his grandmother and himself were poor he had to take to fishing inhis early youth, and his childhood had been spent out on the open water. Every night he said his prayers, and his eyes still wore their religiouspurity. He was captivating though, and next to Yann the finest-built ladof the crew. His voice was very soft, and its boyish tones contrastedmarkedly with his tall height and black beard; as he had shot up veryrapidly he was almost puzzled to find himself grown suddenly so tall andbig. He expected to marry Yann's sister soon, but never yet had answeredany girl's love advances. 

There were only three sleeping bunks aboard, one being double-berthed, so they "turned in" alternately. 

When they had finished their feast, celebrating the Assumption of theirpatron saint, it was a little past midnight. Three of them crept awayto bed in the small dark recesses that resembled coffin-shelves; andthe three others went up on deck to get on with their often interrupted, heavy labour of fish-catching; the latter were Yann, Sylvestre, and oneof their fellow-villagers known as Guillaume. 

It was daylight, the everlasting day of those regions--a pale, dimlight, resembling no other--bathing all things, like the gleams of asetting sun. Around them stretched an immense colourless waste, andexcepting the planks of their ship, all seemed transparent, ethereal, and fairy-like. The eye could not distinguish what the scene might be:first it appeared as a quivering mirror that had no objects to reflect;and in the distance it became a desert of vapour; and beyond that avoid, having neither horizon nor limits. 

The damp freshness of the air was more intensely penetrating than dryfrost; and when breathing it, one tasted the flavour of brine. All wascalm, and the rain had ceased; overhead the clouds, without form orcolour, seemed to conceal that latent light that could not be explained;the eye could see clearly, yet one was still conscious of the night;this dimness was all of an indefinable hue. 

The three men on deck had lived since their childhood upon the frigidseas, in the very midst of their mists, which are vague and troubledas the background of dreams. They were accustomed to see this varyinginfinitude play about their paltry ark of planks, and their eyes were asused to it as those of the great free ocean-birds. 

The boat rolled gently with its everlasting wail, as monotonous as aBreton song moaned by a sleeper. Yann and Sylvestre had got their baitand lines ready, while their mate opened a barrel of salt, and whettinghis long knife went and sat behind them, waiting. 

He did not have long to wait, or they either. They scarcely had throwntheir lines into the calm, cold water in fact, before they drew in hugeheavy fish, of a steel-grey sheen. And time after time the codfish letthemselves be hooked in a rapid and unceasing silent series. The thirdman ripped them open with his long knife, spread them flat, saltedand counted them, and piled up the lot--which upon their return wouldconstitute their fortune--behind them, all still redly streaming andstill sweet and fresh. 

The hours passed monotonously, while in the immeasurably empty regionsbeyond the light slowly changed till it grew less unreal. What at firsthad appeared a livid gloaming, like a northern summer's eve, becamenow, without any intervening "dark hour before dawn, " something likea smiling morn, reflected by all the facets of the oceans in fading, roseate-edged streaks. 

"You really ought to marry, Yann, " said Sylvestre, suddenly and veryseriously this time, still looking into the water. (He seemed to knowsomebody in Brittany, who had allowed herself to be captivated bythe brown eyes of his "big brother, " but he felt shy upon so solemn asubject. )

"Me! Lor', yes, some day I will marry. " He smiled, did the alwayscontemptuous Yann, rolling his passionate eyes. "But I'll have none ofthe lasses at home; no, I'll wed the sea, and I invite ye all in thebarkey now, to the ball I'll give at my wedding. "

They kept on hauling in, for their time could not be lost in chatting;they had an immense quantity of fish in a traveling shoal, which had notceased passing for the last two days. 

They had been up all night, and in thirty hours had caught more than athousand prime cods; so that even their strong arms were tired and theywere half asleep. But their bodies remained active and they continuedtheir toil, though occasionally their minds floated off into regions ofprofound sleep. But the free air they breathed was as pure as that ofthe first young days of the world, and so bracing, that notwithstandingtheir weariness they felt their chests expand and their cheeks glow asat arising. 

Morning, the true morning light, at length came; as in the days ofGenesis, it had "divided from the darkness, " which had settled upon thehorizon and rested there in great heavy masses; and by the clearnessof vision now, it was seen night had passed, and that that first vaguestrange glimmer was only a forerunner. In the thickly-veiled heavens, broke out rents here and there, like side skylights in a dome, throughwhich pierced glorious rays of light, silver and rosy. The lower-lyingclouds were grouped round in a belt of intense shadow, encircling thewaters and screening the far-off distance in darkness. They hinted as ofa space in a boundary; they were as curtains veiling the infinite, oras draperies drawn to hide the too majestic mysteries, which would haveperturbed the imagination of mortals. 

On this special morning, around the small plank platform occupied byYann and Sylvestre, the shifting outer world had an appearance ofdeep meditation, as though this were an altar recently raised; and thesheaves of sun-rays, which darted like arrows under the sacred arch, spread in a long glimmering stream over the motionless waves, as overa marble floor. Then, slowly and more slowly yet loomed still anotherwonder; a high, majestic, pink profile--it was a promontory of gloomyIceland. 

Yann's wedding with the sea? Sylvestre was still thinking of it--afterresuming his fishing without daring to say anything more. He had feltquite sad when his big brother had so turned the holy sacrament ofmarriage into ridicule; and it particularly had frightened him, as hewas superstitious. 

For so long, too, he had mused on Yann's marriage! He had thought thatit might take place with Gaud Mevel, a blonde lass from Paimpol; andthat he would have the happiness of being present at the marriage-feastbefore starting for the navy, that long five years' exile, withits dubious return, the thought of which already plucked at hisheart-strings. 

Four o'clock in the morning now. The watch below came up, all three, torelieve the others. Still rather sleepy, drinking in chestfuls of thefresh, chill air, they stepped up, drawing their long sea-boots higher, and having to shut their eyes, dazzled at first by a light so pale, yetin such abundance. 

Yann and Sylvestre took their breakfast of biscuits, which they had tobreak with a mallet, and began to munch noisily, laughing at their beingso very hard. They had become quite merry again at the idea of goingdown to sleep, snugly and warmly in their berths; and claspingeach other round the waist they danced up to the hatchway to an oldsong-tune. 

Before disappearing through the aperture they stopped to play withTurc, the ship's dog, a young Newfoundland with great clumsy paws. Theysparred at him, and he pretended to bite them like a young wolf, untilhe bit too hard and hurt them, whereupon Yann, with a frown and angerin his quick-changing eyes, pushed him aside with an impatient blow thatsent him flying and made him howl. Yann had a kind heart enough, but hisnature remained rather untamed, and when his physical being was touched, a tender caress was often more like a manifestation of brutal violence. 

CHAPTER II--ICELANDERS

Their smack was named _La Marie_, and her master was Captain Guermeur. Every year she set sail for the big dangerous fisheries, in the frigidregions where the summers have no night. She was a very old ship, asold as the statuette of her patron saint itself. Her heavy, oaken plankswere rough and worn, impregnated with ooze and brine, but still strongand stout, and smelling strongly of tar. At anchor she looked an oldunwieldy tub from her so massive build, but when blew the mighty westerngales, her lightness returned, like a sea-gull awakened by the wind. Then she had her own style of tumbling over the rollers, and reboundingmore lightly than many newer ones, launched with all your new fangles. 

As for the crew of six men and the boy, they were "Icelanders, " thevaliant race of seafarers whose homes are at Paimpol and Treguier, andwho from father to son are destined for the cod fisheries. 

They hardly ever had seen a summer in France. At the end of each winterthey, with other fishers, received the parting blessing in the harbourof Paimpol. And for that fete-day an altar, always the same, andimitating a rocky grotto, was erected on the quay; and over it, in themidst of anchors, oars and nets, was enthroned the Virgin Mary, calm, and beaming with affection, the patroness of sailors; she would bebrought from her chapel for the occasion, and had looked upon generationafter generation with her same lifeless eyes, blessing the happy forwhom the season would be lucky, and the others who never more wouldreturn. 

The Host, followed by a slow procession of wives, mothers, sweethearts, and sisters, was borne round the harbour, where the boats bound forIceland, bedecked in all colours, saluted it on its way. The priesthalted before each, giving them his holy blessing; and then the fleetstarted, leaving the country desolate of husbands, lovers, and sons;and as the shores faded from their view, the crews sang together in low, full voices, the hymns sacred to "the Star of the Ocean. " And every yearsaw the same ceremonies, and heard the same good-byes. 

Then began the life out upon the open sea, in the solitude of three orfour rough companions, on the moving thin planks in the midst of theseething waters of the northern seas. 

Until now _La Marie_ followed the custom of many Icelanders, whichis merely to touch at Paimpol, and then to sail down to the Gulf ofGascony, where fish fetches high prices, or farther on to the SandyIsles, with their salty swamps, where they buy the salt for the nextexpedition. The crews of lusty fellows stay a few days in the southern, sun-kissed harbour-towns, intoxicated by the last rays of summer, by thesweetness of the balmy air, and by the downright jollity of youth. 

With the mists of autumn they return home to Paimpol, or to thescattered huts of the land of Goelo, to remain some time in theirfamilies, in the midst of love, marriages, and births. Very often theyfind unseen babies upon their return, waiting for godfathers ere theycan be baptized, for many children are needed to keep up this race offishermen, which the Icelandic Moloch devours. 

CHAPTER III--THE WOMEN AT HOME

At Paimpol, one fine evening of this same year, upon a Sunday in June, two women were deeply busy in writing a letter. This took place beforea large open window, with a row of flowerpots on its heavy old granitesill. 

As well as could be seen from their bending over the table, both wereyoung. Once wore a very large old-fashioned cap; the other quite a smallone, in the new style adopted by the women of Paimpol. They mighthave been taken for two loving lasses writing a tender missive to somehandsome Icelander. 

The one who dictated--the one with the large head-dress--drew up herhead, wool-gathering. Oh, she was old, very old, notwithstanding herlook from behind, in her small brown shawl--we mean downright old. A sweet old granny, seventy at least. Very pretty, though, and stillfresh-coloured, with the rosy cheeks some old people have. Her _coiffe_was drawn low upon the forehead and upon the top of the head, wascomposed of two or three large rolls of muslin that seemed to telescopeout of one another, and fell on to the nape. Her venerable face, framedin the pure white pleats, had almost a man's look, while her soft, tender eyes wore a kindly expression. She had not the vestige of a toothleft, and when she laughed she showed her round gums, which had stillthe freshness of youth. 

Although her chin had become as pointed "as the toe of a _sabot_" (asshe was in the habit of saying), her profile was not spoiled by time;and it was easily imagined that in her youth it had been regular andpure, like the saints' adorning a church. 

She looked through the window, trying to think of news that might amuseher grandson at sea. There existed not in the whole country of Paimpolanother dear old body like her, to invent such funny stories uponeverybody, and even upon nothing. Already in this letter there werethree or four merry tales, but without the slightest mischief, for shehad nothing ill-natured about her. 

The other woman, finding that the ideas were getting scarce, began towrite the address carefully:

"TO MONSIEUR MOAN, SYLVESTRE, ABOARD THE _MARIE_, co CAPTAIN GUERMEUR, IN THE SEA OF ICELAND, NEAR RYKAWYK. "

Here she lifted her head to ask: "Is that all, Granny Moan?"

The querist was young, adorably young, a girl of twenty in fact; veryfair--a rare complexion in this corner of Brittany, where the race runsswarthy--very fair, we say, with great grey eyes between almost blacklashes; her brows, as fair as the hair, seemed as if they had a darkerstreak in their midst, which gave a wonderful expression of strength andwill to the beautiful face. The rather short profile was very dignified, the nose continuing the line of the brow with absolute rectitude, asin a Greek statue. A deep dimple under the lower lip foiled it updelightfully; and from time to time, when she was absorbed by aparticular idea, she bit this lower lip with her white upper teeth, making the blood run in tiny red veins under the delicate skin. In hersupple form there was no little pride, with gravity also, which sheinherited from the bold Icelandic sailors, her ancestors. The expressionof her eyes was both steady and gentle. 

Her cap was in the shape of a cockle-shell, worn low on the brow, anddrawn back on either side, showing thick tresses of hair about the ears, a head-dress that has remained from remote times and gives quite anolden look to the women of Paimpol. 

One felt instinctively that she had been reared differently than thepoor old woman to whom she gave the name of grandmother, but who isreality was but a distant great-aunt. 

She was the daughter of M. Mevel, a former Icelander, a bit of afreebooter, who had made a fortune by bold undertakings out at sea. 

The fine room where the letter had been just written was hers; a newbed, such as townspeople have, with muslin lace-edged curtains, and onthe stone walls a light-coloured paper, toning down the irregularitiesof the granite; overhead a coating of whitewash covered the great beamsthat revealed the antiquity of the abode; it was the home of well-to-dofolk, and the windows looked out upon the old gray market-place ofPaimpol, where the _pardons_ are held. 

"Is it done, Granny Yvonne? Have you nothing else to tell him?"

"No, my lass, only I would like you to add a word of greeting to youngGaos. "

"Young Gaos" was otherwise called Yann. The proud beautiful girl hadblushed very red when she wrote those words. And as soon as they wereadded at the bottom of the page, in a running hand, she rose and turnedher head aside as if to look at some very interesting object out on themarket-place. 

Standing, she was rather tall; her waist was modelled in a clingingbodice, as perfectly fitting as that of a fashionable dame. In spiteof her cap, she looked like a real lady. Even her hands, without beingconventionally small, were white and delicate, never having touchedrough work. 

True, she had been at first little _Gaud_ (Daisy), paddling bare-footedin the water, motherless, almost wholly neglected during the seasonof the fisheries, which her father spent in Iceland; a pretty, untidy, obstinate girl, but growing vigorous and strong in the bracingsea-breeze. In those days she had been sheltered, during the finesummers, by poor Granny Moan, who used to give her Sylvestre to mindduring her days of hard work in Paimpol. Gaud felt the adoration ofa young mother for the child confided to her tender care. She was hiselder by about eighteen months. He was as dark as she was fair, asobedient and caressing as she was hasty and capricious. She wellremembered that part of her life; neither wealth nor town life hadaltered it; and like a far-off dream of wild freedom it came back toher, or as the remembrance of an undefined and mysterious previousexistence, where the sandy shores seemed longer, and the cliffs higherand nobler. 

Towards the age of five or six, which seemed long ago to her, wealth hadbefallen her father, who began to buy and sell the cargoes of ships. Shehad been taken to Saint-Brieuc, and later to Paris. And from _la petiteGaud_ she had become Mademoiselle Marguerite, tall and serious, withearnest eyes. Always left to herself, in another kind of solitude thanthat of the Breton coast, she still retained the obstinate nature of herchildhood. 

Living in large towns, her dress had become more modified than herself. Although she still wore the _coiffe_ that Breton women discard soseldom, she had learned to dress herself in another way. 

Every year she had returned to Brittany with her father--in the summeronly, like a fashionable, coming to bathe in the sea--and lived again inthe midst of old memories, delighted to hear herself called Gaud, rathercurious to see the Icelanders of whom so much was said, who were neverat home, and of whom, each year, some were missing; on all sides sheheard the name of Iceland, which appeared to her as a distant insatiableabyss. And there, now, was the man she loved!

One fine day she had returned to live in the midst of these fishers, through a whim of her father, who had wished to end his days there, andlive like a landsman in the market-place of Paimpol. 

The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud with cordial thanks as soonas the letter had been read again and the envelope closed. She livedrather far away, at the other end of Ploubazlanec, in a hamlet on thecoast, in the same cottage where she first had seen the light of day, and where her sons and grandsons had been born. In the town, as shepassed along, she answered many friendly nods; she was one of the oldestinhabitants of the country, the last of a worthy and highly esteemedfamily. 

With great care and good management she managed to appear pretty welldressed, although her gowns were much darned, and hardly held together. She always wore the tiny brown Paimpol shawl, which was for best, andupon which the long muslin rolls of her white caps had fallen for pastsixty years; her own marriage shawl, formerly blue, had been dyed forthe wedding of her son Pierre, and since then worn only on Sundays, looked quite nice. 

She still carried herself very straight, not at all like an old woman;and, in spite of her pointed chin, her soft eyes and delicateprofile made all think her still very charming. She was held in greatrespect--one could see that if only by the nods that people gave her. 

On her way she passed before the house of her gallant, the sweetheart offormer days, a carpenter by trade; now an octogenarian, who sat outsidehis door all the livelong day, while the young ones, his sons, worked inthe shop. It was said that he never had consoled himself for her loss, for neither in first or second marriage would she have him; but withold age his feeling for her had become a sort of comical spite, halffriendly and half mischievous, and he always called out to her:

"Aha, _la belle_, when must I call to take your measure?"

But she declined with thanks; she had not yet quite decided to have thatdress made. The truth is, that the old man, with rather questionabletaste, spoke of the suit in deal planks, which is the last of all ourterrestrial garments. 

"Well, whenever you like; but don't be shy in asking for it, you know, old lady. "

He had made this joke several times; but, to-day, she could scarcelytake it good-naturedly. She felt more tired than ever of herhard-working life, and her thoughts flew back to her dear grandson--thelast of them all, who, upon his return from Iceland, was to enter thenavy for five years! Perhaps he might have to go to China, to the war!Would she still be about, upon his return? The thought alone was agonyto her. No, she was surely not so happy as she looked, poor old granny!

And was it really possible and true, that her last darling was to betorn from her? She, perhaps, might die alone, without seeing him again!Certainly, some gentlemen of the town, whom she knew, had done all theycould to keep him from having to start, urging that he was the solesupport of an old and almost destitute grandmother, who could no longerwork. But they had not succeeded--because of Jean Moan, the deserter, anelder brother of Sylvestre's, whom no one in the family ever mentionednow, but who still lived somewhere over in America, thus deprivinghis younger brother of the military exemption. Moreover, it had beenobjected that she had her small pension, allowed to the widows ofsailors, and the Admiralty could not deem her poor enough. 

When she returned home, she said her prayers at length for all her deadones, sons and grandsons; then she prayed again with renewed strengthand confidence for her Sylvestre, and tried to sleep--thinking of the"suit of wood, " her heart sadly aching at the thought of being so old, when this new parting was imminent. 

Meanwhile, the other victim of separation, the girl, had remained seatedat her window, gazing upon the golden rays of the setting sun, reflectedon the granite walls, and the black swallows wheeling across the skyabove. Paimpol was always quiet on these long May evenings, even onSundays; the lasses, who had not a single lad to make love to them, sauntered along, in couples or three together, brooding of their loversin Iceland. 

"A word of greeting to young Gaos!" She had been greatly affected inwriting that sentence, and that name, which now she could not forget. She often spent her evenings here at the window, like a grand lady. Herfather did not approve of her walking with the other girls of her age, who had been her early playmates. And as he left the cafe, and walked upand down, smoking his pipe with old seamen like himself, he was happy tolook up at his daughter among her flowers, in his grand house. 

"Young Gaos!" Against her will she gazed seaward; it could not be seen, but she felt it was nigh, at the end of the tiny street crowdedwith fishermen. And her thoughts travelled through a fascinating anddelightful infinite, far, far away to the northern seas, where "_LaMarie_, Captain Guermeur, " was sailing. A strange man was young Gaos!retiring and almost incomprehensible now, after having come forward soaudaciously, yet so lovingly. 

In her long reverie, she remembered her return to Brittany, which hadtaken place the year before. One December morning after a night oftravelling, the train from Paris had deposited her father and herselfat Guingamp. It was a damp, foggy morning, cold and almost dark. Shehad been seized with a previously unknown feeling; she could scarcelyrecognise the quaint little town, which she had only seen during thesummer--oh, that glad old time, the dear old times of the past! Thissilence, after Paris! This quiet life of people, who seemed of anotherworld, going about their simple business in the misty morning. But thesombre granite houses, with their dark, damp walls, and the Bretoncharm upon all things, which fascinated her now that she loved Yann, hadseemed particularly saddening upon that morning. Early housewives werealready opening their doors, and as she passed she could glance into theold-fashioned houses, with their tall chimney-pieces, where sat theold grandmothers, in their white caps, quiet and dignified. As soonas daylight had begun to appear, she had entered the church to say herprayers, and the grand old aisle had appeared immense and shadowy toher--quite different from all the Parisian churches--with its roughpillars worn at the base by the chafing of centuries, and its damp, earthy smell of age and saltpetre. 

In a damp recess, behind the columns, a taper was burning, before whichknelt a woman, making a vow; the dim flame seemed lost in the vaguenessof the arches. Gaud experienced there the feeling of a long-forgottenimpression: that kind of sadness and fear that she had felt when quiteyoung at being taken to mass at Paimpol Church on raw, wintry mornings. 

But she hardly regretted Paris, although there were many splendid andamusing sights there. In the first place she felt almost cramped fromhaving the blood of the vikings in her veins. And then, in Paris, she felt like a stranger and an intruder. The _Parisiennes_ weretight-laced, artificial women, who had a peculiar way of walking; andGaud was too intelligent even to have attempted to imitate them. In herhead-dress, ordered every year from the maker in Paimpol, she feltout of her element in the capital; and did not understand that if thewayfarers turned round to look at her, it was only because she made avery charming picture. 

Some of these Parisian ladies quite won her by their high-bred anddistinguished manners, but she knew them to be inaccessible to her, while from others of a lower caste who would have been glad to makefriends with her, she kept proudly aloof, judging them unworthy of herattention. Thus she had lived almost without friends, without othersociety than her father's, who was engaged in business and often away. So she did not regret that life of estrangement and solitude. 

But, none the less, on that day of arrival she had been painfullysurprised by the bitterness of this Brittany, seen in full winter. Andher heart sickened at the thought of having to travel another five orsix hours in a jolting car--to penetrate still farther into the blank, desolate country to reach Paimpol. 

All through the afternoon of that same grisly day, her father andherself had journeyed in a little old ramshackle vehicle, open to allthe winds; passing, with the falling night, through dull villages, underghostly trees, black-pearled with mist in drops. And ere long lanternshad to be lit, and she could perceive nothing else but what seemed twotrails of green Bengal lights, running on each side before the horses, and which were merely the beams that the two lanterns projected on thenever-ending hedges of the roadway. But how was it that trees were sogreen in the month of December? Astonished at first, she bent to lookout, and then she remembered how the gorse, the evergreen gorse of thepaths and the cliffs, never fades in the country of Paimpol. At the sametime a warmer breeze began to blow, which she knew again and which smeltof the sea. 

Towards the end of the journey she had been quite awakened and amused bythe new notion that struck her, namely: "As this is winter, I shall seethe famous fishermen of Iceland. "

For in December they were to return, the brothers, cousins, and loversof whom all her friends, great and small, had spoken to her during thelong summer evening walks in her holiday trips. And the thought hadhaunted her, though she felt chilled in the slow-going vehicle. 

Now she had seen them, and her heart had been captured by one of themtoo. 

CHAPTER IV--FIRST LOVE

The first day she had seen him, this Yann, was the day after hisarrival, at the "_Pardon des Islandais_, " which is on the eighth ofDecember, the fete-day of Our Lady of Bonne-Nouvelle, the patroness offishers--a little before the procession, with the gray streets, stilldraped in white sheets, on which were strewn ivy and holly and wintryblossoms with their leaves. 

At this _Pardon_ the rejoicing was heavy and wild under the sad sky. Joy without merriment, composed chiefly of insouciance and contempt; ofphysical strength and alcohol; above which floated, less disguised thanelsewhere, the universal warning of death. 

A great clamour in Paimpol; sounds of bells mingled with the chantsof the priests. Rough and monotonous songs in the taverns--old sailorlullabies--songs of woe, arisen from the sea, drawn from the deep nightof bygone ages. Groups of sailors, arm-in-arm, zigzagging through thestreets, from their habit of rolling, and because they were half-drunk. Groups of girls in their nun-like white caps. Old granite housessheltering these seething crowds; antiquated roofs telling of theirstruggles, through many centuries, against the western winds, the mist, and the rain; and relating, too, many stories of love and adventure thathad passed under their protection. 

And floating over all was a deep religious sentiment, a feeling ofbygone days, with respect for ancient veneration and the symbols thatprotect it, and for the white, immaculate Virgin. Side by side with thetaverns rose the church, its deep sombre portals thrown open, and stepsstrewn with flowers, with its perfume of incense, its lighted tapers, and the votive offerings of sailors hung all over the sacred arch. Andside by side also with the happy girls were the sweethearts of deadsailors, and the widows of the shipwrecked fishers, quitting thechapel of the dead in their long mourning shawls and their smooth tiny_coiffes_; with eyes downward bent, noiselessly they passed through themidst of this clamouring life, like a sombre warning. And close to allwas the everlasting sea, the huge nurse and devourer of these vigorousgenerations, become fierce and agitated as if to take part in the fete. 

Gaud had but a confused impression of all these things together. Excitedand merry, yet with her heart aching, she felt a sort of anguish seizeher at the idea that this country had now become her own again. On themarket-place, where there were games and acrobats, she walked up anddown with her friends, who named and pointed out to her from timeto time the young men of Paimpol or Ploubazlanec. A group of these"Icelanders" were standing before the singers of "_complaintes_, " (songsof woe) with their backs turned towards them. And directly Gaud wasstruck with one of them, tall as a giant, with huge shoulders almost toobroad; but she had simply said, perhaps with a touch of mockery: "Thereis one who is tall, to say the least!" And the sentence implied beneaththis was: "What an incumbrance he'll be to the woman he marries, ahusband of that size!"

He had turned round as if he had heard her, and had given her a quickglance from top to toe, seeming to say: "Who is this girl who wearsthe _coiffe_ of Paimpol, who is so elegant, and whom I never have seenbefore?"

And he quickly bent his eyes to the ground for politeness' sake, andhad appeared to take a renewed interest in the singers, only showing theback of his head and his black hair that fell in rather long curls uponhis neck. And although she had asked the names of several others, shehad not dared ask his. The fine profile, the grand half-savage look, the brown, almost tawny pupils moving rapidly on the bluish opal of theeyes; all this had impressed her and made her timid. 

And it just happened to be that "Fils Gaos, " of whom she had heard theMoans speak as a great friend of Sylvestre's. On the evening of thissame _Pardon_, Sylvestre and he, walking arm-in-arm, had crossed herfather and herself, and had stopped to wish them good-day. 

And young Sylvestre had become again to her as a sort of brother. Asthey were cousins they had continued to _tutoyer_ (using thou for you, asign of familiarity) each other; true, she had at first hesitated doingso to this great boy of seventeen, who already wore a black beard, but as his kind, soft, childish eyes had hardly changed at all, sherecognized him soon enough to imagine that she had never lost sight ofhim. 

When he used to come into Paimpol, she kept him to dinner of an evening;it was without consequence to her, and he always had a very goodappetite, being on rather short rations at home. 

To speak truly, Yann had not been very polite to her at this firstmeeting, which took place at the corner of a tiny gray street, strewnwith green branches. He had raised his hat to her, with a noble thoughtimid gesture; and after having given her an ever-rapid glance, turnedhis eyes away, as if he were vexed with this meeting and in a hurry togo. A strong western breeze that had arisen during the procession, hadscattered branches of box everywhere and loaded the sky with dark graydraperies. 

Gaud, in her dreamland of remembrances, saw all this clearly again; thesad gloaming falling upon the remains of the _Pardon_; the sheets strewnwith white flowers floating in the wind along the walls; the noisygroups of Icelanders, other waifs of the gales and tempests flockinginto the taverns, singing to cheer themselves under the gloom of thecoming rain; and above all, Gaud remembered the giant standing in frontof her, turning aside as if annoyed, and troubled at having met her. 

What a wonderful change had come over her since then; and what adifference there was between that hubbub and the present tranquility!How quiet and empty Paimpol seemed to-night in the warm long twilightof May, which kept her still at her window alone, lulled in her love'syoung dream!

CHAPTER V--THE SECOND MEETING

Their second meeting was at a wedding-feast. Young Gaos had been chosento offer her his arm. At first she had been rather vexed, not likingthe idea of strolling through the streets with this tall fellow, whomeverybody would stare at, on account of his excessive height, and who, most probably, would not know what to speak to her about. Besides, hereally frightened her with his wild, lofty look. 

At the appointed hour all were assembled for the wedding procession saveYann, who had not appeared. Time passed, yet he did not come, andthey talked of giving up any further waiting for him. Then it was shediscovered that it was for his pleasure, and his alone, that she haddonned her best dress; with any other of the young men present at theball, the evening's enjoyment would be spoiled. 

At last he arrived, in his best clothes also, apologizing, without anyembarrassment, to the bride's party. The excuse was, that some importantshoals of fish, not at all expected, had been telegraphed from England, as bound to pass that night a little off Aurigny; and so all the boatsof Ploubazlanec hastily had set sail. There was great excitement in thevillages, women rushing about to find their husbands and urging them toput off quickly, and struggling hard themselves to hoist the sailsand help in the launching; in fact, a regular "turnout" throughoutthe places, though in the midst of the company Yann related this verysimply; he had been obliged to look out for a substitute and warrant himto the owner of the boat to which he belonged for the winter season. Itwas this that had caused him to be late, and in order not to miss thewedding, he had "turned up" (abandoned) his share in the profits of thecatch. His plea was perfectly well understood by his hearers, no onethinking of blaming him; for well all know that, in this coast life, allare more or less dependent upon the unforeseen events at sea, and themysterious migrations of the fishy regions. The other Icelandes presentwere disappointed at not having been warned in time, like the fishers ofPloubazlanec, of the fortune that was skirting their very shores. 

But it was too late now, worse luck! So they gave their arms to thelasses, the violins began to play, and joyously they all tramped out. 

At first Yann had only paid her a few innocent compliments, such as fallto a chance partner met at a wedding, and of whom one knows but little. Amidst all the couples in the procession, they formed the only one ofstrangers, the others were all relatives or sweethearts. 

But during the evening while the dancing was going on, the talk betweenthem had again turned to the subject of the fish, and looking herstraight in the eyes, he roughly said to her:

"You are the only person about Paimpol, and even in the world, for whomI would have missed a windfall; truly, for nobody else would I have comeback from my fishing, Mademoiselle Gaud. "

At first she was rather astonished that this fisherman should dare soto address her who had come to this ball rather like a young queen, butthen delighted, she had ended by answering:

"Thank you, Monsieur Yann; and I, too, would rather be with you thanwith anybody else. "

That was all. But from that moment until the end of the dancing, theykept on chatting in a different tone than before, low and soft-voiced. 

The dancing was to the sound of a hurdy-gurdy and violin, the samecouples almost always together. When Yann returned to invite heragain, after having danced with another girl for politeness' sake, they exchanged a smile, like friends meeting anew, and continued theirinterrupted conversation, which had become very close. Simply enough, Yann spoke of his fisher life, its hardships, its wage, and of hisparents' difficulties in former years, when they had fourteen littleGaoses to bring up, he being the eldest. Now, the old folks were out ofthe reach of need, because of a wreck that their father had found in theChannel, the sale of which had brought in 10, 000 francs, omitting theshare claimed by the Treasury. With the money they built an upper storyto their house, which was situated at the point of Ploubazlanec, at thevery land's end, in the hamlet of Pors-Even, overlooking the sea, andhaving a grand outlook. 

"It is mighty tough, though, " said he, "this here life of an Icelander, having to start in February for such a country, where it is awful coldand bleak, with a raging, foaming sea. "

Gaud remembered every phrase of their conversation at the ball, as if ithad all happened yesterday, and details came regularly back to her mind, as she looked upon the night falling over Paimpol. If Yann had had noidea of marriage, why had he told her all the items of his existence, towhich she had listened, as only an engaged sweetheart would have done;he did not seem a commonplace young man, prone to babbling his businessto everybody who came along. 

"The occupation is pretty good, nevertheless, " he said, "and I shallnever change my career. Some years we make eight hundred francs, andothers twelve hundred, which I get upon my return, and hand over to theold lady. "

"To your mother, Monsieur Yann, eh?"

"Yes, every penny of it, always. It's the custom with us Icelanders, Mademoiselle Gaud. " He spoke of this as a quite ordinary and naturalcourse. 

"Perhaps you'll hardly believe it, but I scarcely ever have anypocket-money. Of a Sunday mother gives me a little when I come intoPaimpol. And so it goes all the time. Why, look 'ee here, this year myfather had these clothes made for me, without which treat I never couldhave come to the wedding; certain sure, for I never should have daredoffer you my arm in my old duds of last year. "

For one like her, accustomed to seeing Parisians, Yann's habilimentswere, perhaps, not very stylish; a short jacket open over theold-fashioned waistcoat; but the build of their wearer wasirreproachably handsome, so that he had a noble look withal. 

Smiling, he looked at her straight in the depths of her eyes each timehe spoke to her, so as to divine her opinion. And how good and honestwas his look, as he told her all these short-comings, so that she mightwell understand that he was not rich!

And she smiled also, as she gazed at him full in the face; answeringseldom, but listening with her whole soul, more and more astonished andmore and more drawn towards him. What a mixture of untamed roughnessand caressing childishness he was! His earnest voice, short and blunttowards others, became softer and more and more tender as he spoketo her; and for her alone he knew how to make it trill with extremesweetness, like the music of a stringed instrument with the mute uponit. 

What a singular and astonishing fact it was to see this man of brawn, with his free air and forbidding aspect, always treated by his familylike a child, and deeming it quite natural; having travelled over allthe earth, met with all sorts of adventures, incurred all dangers, andyet showing the same respectful and absolute obedience to his parents. 

She compared him to others, two or three dandies in Paris, clerks, quill-drivers, or what not, who had pestered her with their attentions, for the sake of her money. He seemed to be the best, as well as the mosthandsome, man she had ever met. 

To put herself more on an equality with him she related how, in her ownhome, she had not always been so well-off as at present; that herfather had begun life as a fisherman off Iceland, and always held theIcelanders in great esteem; and that she herself could clearly rememberas a little child, having run barefooted upon the beach, after her poormother's death. 

Oh! the exquisite night of that ball, unique in her life! It seemed faraway now, for it dated back to December, and May had already returned. All the sturdy partners of that evening were out fishing yonder now, scattered over the far northern seas, in the clear pale sun, in intenseloneliness, while the dust thickened silently on the land of Brittany. 

Still Gaud remained at her window. The market-place of Paimpol, hedgedin on all sides by the old-fashioned houses, became sadder and sadderwith the darkling; everywhere reigned silence. Above the housetops thestill brilliant space of the heavens seemed to grow more hollow, toraise itself up and finally separate itself from all terrestrial things:these, in the last hour of day, were entirely blended into the singledark outline of the gables of olden roofs. 

From time to time a window or door would be suddenly closed; some oldsailor, shaky upon his legs, would blunder out of the tavern and plungeinto the small dark streets; or girls passed by, returning home lateafter their walk and carrying nosegays of May-flowers. One of them whoknew Gaud, calling out good-evening to her, held up a branch of hawthornhigh towards her as if to offer it her to smell; in the transparentdarkness she could distinguish the airy tufts of its white blossoms. From the gardens and courts floated another soft perfume, that of theflowering honeysuckle along the granite walls, mingled with a vaguesmell of seaweed in the harbour. 

Bats flew silently through the air above, like hideous creatures in adream. 

Many and many an evening had Gaud passed at her window, gazing upon themelancholy market-place, thinking of the Icelanders who were far away, and always of that same ball. 

Yann was a capital waltzer, as straight as a young oak, moving with agraceful yet dignified bearing, his head thrown well back, his brown, curled locks falling upon his brow, and floating with the motion of thedance. Gaud, who was rather tall herself, felt their contact upon hercap, as he bent towards her to grasp her more tightly during the swiftmovements. 

Now and then he pointed out to her his little sister Marie, dancing withSylvestre, who was her _fiance_. He smiled with a very tender lookat seeing them both so young and yet so reserved towards one another, bowing gravely, and putting on very timid airs as they communed lowly, on most amiable subjects, no doubt. 

Of course, Yann would never have allowed it to be otherwise; yet itamused him, venturesome and bold as he was, to find them so coy; andhe and Gaud exchanged one of their confidential smiles, seeming to say:"How pretty, but how funny _our_ little brother is!"

Towards the close of the evening, all the girls received the breaking-upkiss; cousins, betrothed, and lovers, all, in a good frank, honest way, before everybody. But, of course, Yann had not kissed Gaud; none mighttake that liberty with the daughter of M. Mevel; but he seemed to strainher a little more tightly to him during the last waltzes, and she, trusting him, did not resist, but yielded closer still, giving up herwhole soul, in the sudden, deep, and joyous attraction that bound her tohim. 

"Did you see the saucy minx, what eyes she made at him?" queried twoor three girls, with their own eyes timidly bent under their golden orblack brows, though they had among the dancers one or two lovers, to saythe least. And truly Gaud did look at Yann very hard, only she hadthe excuse that he was the first and only young man whom she ever hadnoticed in her life. 

At dawn, when the party broke up and left in confusion, they had takenleave of one another, like betrothed ones, who are sure to meet thefollowing day. To return home, she had crossed this same market-placewith her father, little fatigued, feeling light and gay, happy tobreathe the frosty fog, and loving the sad dawn itself, so sweet andenjoyable seemed bare life. 

The May night had long since fallen; nearly all the windows had closedwith a grating of their iron fittings, but Gaud remained at her place, leaving hers open. The last passers-by, who could distinguish the whitecap in the darkness, might say to themselves, "That's surely some girl, dreaming of her sweetheart. " It was true, for she was dreaming of hers, with a wild desire to weep; her tiny teeth bit her lips and continuallyopened and pursed up the deep dimple that outlined the under lip ofher fresh, pure mouth. Her eyes remained fixed on the darkness, seeingnothing of tangible things. 

But, after the ball, why had he not returned? What change had come overhim? Meeting him by chance, he seemed to avoid her, turning aside hislook, which was always fleeting, by the way. She had often debated thiswith Sylvestre, who could not understand either. 

"But still, he's the lad for you to marry, Gaud, " said Sylvestre, "ifyour father allowed ye. In the whole country round you'd not find hislike. First, let me tell 'ee, he's a rare good one, though he mayn'tlook it. He seldom gets tipsy. He sometimes is stubborn, but is verypliable for all that. No, I can't tell 'ee how good he is! And such anA. B. Seaman! Every new fishing season the skippers regularly fight tohave him. "

She was quite sure of her father's permission, for she never had beenthwarted in any of her whims. And it mattered little to her whetherYann were rich or not. To begin with, a sailor like him would need buta little money in advance to attend the classes of the coast navigationschool, and might shortly become a captain whom all shipowners wouldgladly intrust with their vessels. It also mattered little to her thathe was such a giant; great strength may become a defect in a woman, butin a man is not prejudicial to good looks. 

Without seeming to care much, she had questioned the girls of thecountry round about, who knew all the love stories going; but he hadno recognized engagement with any one, he paid no more attention to onethan another, but roved from right to left, to Lezardrieux as well as toPaimpol, to all the beauties who cared to receive his address. 

One Sunday evening, very late, she had seen him pass under her windows, in company with one Jeannie Caroff, whom he tucked under his wing veryclosely; she was pretty, certainly, but had a very bad reputation. Thishad pained Gaud very much indeed. She had been told that he was veryquick-tempered: one night being rather tipsy in a tavern of Paimpol, where the Icelanders held their revels, he had thrown a great marbletable through a door that they would not open to him. But she forgavehim all that; we all know what sailors are sometimes when the fit takesthem. But if his heart were good, why had he sought one out who neverhad thought of him, to leave her afterward; what reason had he had tolook at her for a whole evening with his fair, open smile, and to usehis softest, tenderest voice to speak to her of his affairs as to abetrothed? Now, it was impossible for her to become attached to another, or to change. In this same country, when quite a child, she was used tobeing scolded when naughty and called more stubborn than any other childin her ideas; and she had not altered. Fine lady as she was now, rather serious and proud in her ways, none had refashioned her, and sheremained always the same. 

After this ball, the past winter had been spent in waiting to see himagain, but he had not even come to say good-bye before his departure forIceland. Since he was no longer by, nothing else existed in her eyes;slowly time seemed to drag until the return in autumn, when she had madeup her mind to put an end to her doubts. 

The town-hall clock struck eleven, with that peculiar resonance thatbells have during the quiet spring nights. At Paimpol eleven o'clock isvery late; so Gaud closed her window and lit her lamp, to go to bed. 

Perhaps it was only shyness in Yann, after all, or was it because, beingproud also, he was afraid of a refusal, as she was so rich? She wantedto ask him this herself straightforwardly, but Sylvestre thought thatit would not be the right thing, and it would not look well for herto appear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners and dress weresufficiently criticised. 

She undressed slowly as if in a dream; first her muslin cap, then hertown-cut dress, which she threw carelessly on a chair. The little lamp, alone to burn at this late hour, bathed her shoulders and bosom in itsmysterious light, her perfect form, which no eye ever had contemplated, and never could contemplate if Yann did not marry her. She knew her facewas beautiful, but she was unconscious of the beauty of her figure. Inthis remote land, among daughters of fishers, beauty of shape is almostpart of the race; it is scarcely ever noticed, and even the leastrespectable women are ashamed to parade it. 

Gaud began to unbraid her tresses, coiled in the shape of a snail-shelland rolled round her ears, and two plaits fell upon her shoulderslike weighty serpents. She drew them up into a crown on the top ofher head--this was comfortable for sleeping--so that, by reason of herstraight profile, she looked like a Roman vestal. 

She still held up her arms, and biting her lip, she slowly ran herfingers through the golden mass, like a child playing with a toy, whilethinking of something else; and again letting it fall, she quicklyunplaited it to spread it out; soon she was covered with her own locks, which fell to her knees, looking like some Druidess. 

And sleep having come, notwithstanding love and an impulse to weep, shethrew herself roughly in her bed, hiding her face in the silken massesfloating round her outspread like a veil. 

In her hut in Ploubazlanec, Granny Moan, who was on the other and darkerside of her life, had also fallen to sleep--the frozen sleep of oldage--dreaming of her grandson and of death. 

And at this same hour, on board the _Marie_, on the Northern Sea, whichwas very heavy on this particular evening, Yann and Sylvestre--the twolonged-for rovers--sang ditties to one another, and went on gaily withtheir fishing in the everlasting daylight. 

CHAPTER VI--NEWS FROM HOME

About a month later, around Iceland, the weather was of that rare kindthat the sailors call a dead calm; in other words, in the air nothingmoved, as if all the breezes were exhausted and their task done. 

The sky was covered with a white veil, which darkened towards its lowerborder near the horizon, and gradually passed into dull gray leadentints; over this the still waters threw a pale light, which fatiguedthe eyes and chilled the gazer through and through. All at once, liquiddesigns played over the surface, such light evanescent rings as oneforms by breathing on a mirror. The sheen of the waters seemed coveredwith a net of faint patterns, which intermingled and reformed, rapidlydisappearing. Everlasting night or everlasting day, one could scarcelysay what it was; the sun, which pointed to no special hour, remainedfixed, as if presiding over the fading glory of dead things; it appearedbut as a mere ring, being almost without substance, and magnifiedenormously by a shifting halo. 

Yann and Sylvestre, leaning against one another, sang "Jean-Francois deNantes, " the song without an end; amused by its very monotony, lookingat one another from the corner of their eyes as if laughing at thechildish fun, with which they began the verses over and over again, trying to put fresh spirit into them each time. Their cheeks were rosyunder the sharp freshness of the morning: the pure air they breathed wasstrengthening, and they inhaled it deep down in their chests, thevery fountain of all vigorous existence. And yet, around them, wasa semblance of non-existence, of a world either finished or not yetcreated; the light itself had no warmth; all things seemed withoutmotion, and as if chilled for eternity under the great ghostly eye thatrepresented the sun. 

The _Marie_ projected over the sea a shadow long and black as night, orrather appearing deep green in the midst of the polished surface, whichreflected all the purity of the heavens; in this shadowed part, whichhad no glitter, could be plainly distinguished through the transparency, myriads upon myriads of fish, all alike, gliding slowly in the samedirection, as if bent towards the goal of their perpetual travels. Theywere cod, performing their evolutions all as parts of a single body, stretched full length in the same direction, exactly parallel, offeringthe effect of gray streaks, unceasingly agitated by a quick motion thatgave a look of fluidity to the mass of dumb lives. Sometimes, with asudden quick movement of the tail, all turned round at the same time, showing the sheen of their silvered sides; and the same movement wasrepeated throughout the entire shoal by slow undulations, as if athousand metal blades had each thrown a tiny flash of lightning fromunder the surface. 

The sun, already very low, lowered further; so night had decidedly come. As the great ball of flame descended into the leaden-coloured zones thatsurrounded the sea, it grew yellow, and its outer rim became more clearand solid. Now it could be looked straight at, as if it were butthe moon. Yet it still gave out light and looked quite near in theimmensity; it seemed that by going in a ship, only so far as the edge ofthe horizon, one might collide with the great mournful globe, floatingin the air just a few yards above the water. 

Fishing was going on well; looking into the calm water, one could seeexactly what took place; how the cod came to bite, with a greedyspring; then, feeling themselves hooked, wriggled about, as if tohook themselves still firmer. And every moment, with rapid action, thefishermen hauled in their lines, hand overhand, throwing the fish to theman who was to clean them and flatten them out. 

The Paimpol fleet were scattered over the quiet mirror, animating thedesert. Here and there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere form'ssake, considering there was no breeze. They were like clear whiteoutlines upon the greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing offIceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade that ladies' yachting was noname for it. 

"Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!"

So they sang, like a couple of children. 

Yann little troubled whether or no he was handsome and good-looking. Hewas boyish only with Sylvestre, it is true, and sang and joked with noother; on the contrary, he was rather distant with the others and proudand disdainful--very willing though, when his help was required, andalways kind and obliging when not irritated. 

So the twain went on singing their song, with two others, a few stepsoff, singing another, a dirge--a clashing of sleepiness, health, andvague melancholy. But they did not feel dull, and the hours flew by. 

Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in the iron range, and thehatch was kept shut, so as to give the appearance of night there forthose who needed sleep. They required but little air to sleep; indeed, less robust fellows, brought up in towns, would have wanted more. Theyused to go to bed after the watch at irregular times, just when theyfelt inclined, hours counting for little in this never-fading light. And they always slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness or baddreams. 

"Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!"

They looked attentively at some almost imperceptible object, far off onthe horizon, some faint smoke rising from the waters like a tiny jot ofanother gray tint slightly darker than the sky's. Their eyes were usedto plumbing depths, and they had seen it. 

"A sail, a sail, thereaway!"

"I have an idea, " said the skipper, staring attentively, "that it's agovernment cruiser coming on her inspection-round. "

This faint smoke brought news of home to the sailors, and among others, a letter we wrote of, from an old grandam, written by the hand of abeautiful girl. Slowly the steamer approached till they perceived herblack hull. Yes, it was the cruiser, making the inspection in thesewestern fjords. 

At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up, fresher yet to inhale, andbegan to tarnish the surface of the still waters in patches; it traceddesigns in a bluish green tint over the shining mirror, and scatteringin trails, these fanned out or branched off like a coral tree; all veryrapidly with a low murmur; it was like a signal of awakening foretellingthe end of this intense torpor. The sky, its veil being rent asunder, grew clear; the vapours fell down on the horizon, massing in heaps likeslate-coloured wadding, as if to form a soft bank to the sea. The twoever-during mirrors between which the fishermen lived, the one on highand the one beneath, recovered their deep lucidity, as if the miststarnishing them had been brushed away. 

The weather was changing in a rapid way that foretold no good. Smacksbegan to arrive from all points of the immense plane; first, all theFrench smacks in the vicinity, from Brittany, Normandy, Boulogne, or Dunkirk. Like birds flocking to a call, they assembled round thecruiser; from the apparently empty corners of the horizon, othersappeared on every side; their tiny gray wings were seen till theypeopled the pallid waste. 

No longer slowly drifting, for they had spread out their sails to thenew and cool breeze, and cracked on all to approach. 

Far-off Iceland also reappeared, as if she would fain come near themalso; showing her great mountains of bare stones more distinctly thanever. 

And there arose a new Iceland of similar colour, which little by littletook a more definite form, and none the less was purely illusive, itsgigantic mountains merely a condensation of mists. The sun, sinking low, seemed incapable of ever rising over all things, though glowing throughthis phantom island so tangible that it seemed placed in front of it. Incomprehensible sight! no longer was it surrounded by a halo, but itsdisc had become firmly spread, rather like some faded yellow planetslowly decaying and suddenly checked there in the heart of chaos. 

The cruiser, which had stopped, was fully surrounded by the fleet ofIcelanders. From all boats were lowered, like so many nut-shells, andconveyed their strong, long-bearded men, in barbaric-looking dresses, tothe steamer. 

Like children, all had something to beg for; remedies for pettyailments, materials for repairs, change of diet, and home letters. Others came, sent by their captains, to be clapped in irons, to expiatesome fault; as they had all been in the navy, they took this as a matterof course. When the narrow deck of the cruiser was blocked-up by fouror five of these hulking fellows, stretched out with the bilboes roundtheir feet, the old sailor who had just chained them up called out tothem, "Roll o' one side, my lads, to let us work, d'ye hear?" which theyobediently did with a grin. 

There were a great many letters this time for the Iceland fleet. Amongthe rest, two for "_La Marie_, Captain Guermeur"; one addressed to"Monsieur Gaos, Yann, " the other to "Monsieur Moan, Sylvestre. " Thelatter had come by way of Rykavyk, where the cruiser had taken it on. 

The purser, diving into his post-bags of sailcloth, distributed themall round, often finding it hard to read the addresses, which were notalways written very skilfully, while the captain kept on saying: "Lookalive there, look alive! the barometer is falling. "

He was rather anxious to see all the tiny yawls afloat, and so manyvessels assembled in that dangerous region. 

Yann and Sylvestre used to read their letters together. This time theyread them by the light of the midnight sun, shining above the horizon, still like a dead luminary. Sitting together, a little to one side, in aretired nook of the deck, their arms about each other's shoulders, theyvery slowly read, as if to enjoy more thoroughly the news sent them fromhome. 

In Yann's letter Sylvestre got news of Marie Gaos, his littlesweetheart; in Sylvestre's, Yann read all Granny Moan's funny stories, for she had not her like for amusing the absent ones you will remember;and the last paragraph concerning him came up: the "word of greeting toyoung Gaos. "

When the letters were got through, Sylvestre timidly showed his to hisbig friend, to try and make him admire the writing of it. 

"Look, is it not pretty writing, Yann?"

But Yann, who knew very well whose hand had traced it, turned aside, shrugging his shoulders, as much as to say that he was worried too oftenabout this Gaud girl. 

So Sylvestre carefully folded up the poor, rejected paper, put it intoits envelope and all in his jersey, next his breast, saying to himselfsadly: "For sure, they'll never marry. But what on earth can he have tosay against her?"

Midnight was struck on the cruiser's bell. And yet our couple remainedsitting there, thinking of home, the absent ones, a thousand things inreverie. At this same moment the everlasting sun, which had dipped itslower edge into the waters, began slowly to reascend, and lo! this wasmorning. 

PART II -- IN THE BRETON LAND

CHAPTER I--THE PLAYTHING OF THE STORM

The Northern sun had taken another aspect and changed its colour, opening the new day by a sinister morn. Completely free from its veil, it gave forth its grand rays, crossing the sky in fitful flashes, foretelling nasty weather. During the past few days it had been too fineto last. The winds blew upon that swarm of boats, as if to clear the seaof them; and they began to disperse and flee, like an army put to rout, before the warning written in the air, beyond possibility to misread. Harder and harder it blew, making men and ships quake alike. 

And the still tiny waves began to run one after another and to melttogether; at first they were frosted over with white foam spread outin patches; and then, with a whizzing sound, arose smoke as thoughthey burned and scorched, and the whistling grew louder every moment. Fish-catching was no longer thought of; it was their work on deck. Thefishing lines had been drawn in, and all hurried to make sail and someto seek for shelter in the fjords, while yet others preferred to roundthe southern point of Iceland, finding it safer to stand for the opensea, with the free space about them, and run before the stern wind. Theycould still see each other a while: here and there, above the trough ofthe sea, sails wagged as poor wearied birds fleeing; the masts tipped, but ever and anon righted, like the weighted pith figures that similarlyresume an erect attitude when released after being blown down. 

The illimitable cloudy roof, erstwhile compacted towards the westernhorizon, in an island form, began to break up on high and send itsfragments over the surface. It seemed indestructible, for vainly didthe winds stretch it, pull and toss it asunder, continually tearingaway dark strips, which they waved over the pale yellow sky, graduallybecoming intensely and icily livid. Ever more strongly grew the windthat threw all things in turmoil. 

The cruiser had departed for shelter at Iceland; some fishers aloneremained upon the seething sea, which now took an ill-boding look and adreadful colour. All hastily made preparations for bad weather. Betweenone and another the distance grew greater, till some were lost sight of. 

The waves, curling up in scrolls, continued to run after each other, to reassemble and climb on one another, and between them the hollowsdeepened. 

In a few hours, everything was belaboured and overthrown in theseregions that had been so calm the day before, and instead of thepast silence, the uproar was deafening. The present agitation was adissolving view, unconscientious and useless, and quickly accomplished. What was the object of it all? What a mystery of blind destruction itwas!

The clouds continued to stream out on high, out of the west continually, racing and darkening all. A few yellow clefts remained, through whichthe sun shot its rays in volleys. And the now greenish water was stripedmore thickly with snowy froth. 

By midday the _Marie_ was made completely snug for dirty weather: herhatches battened down, and her sails storm-reefed; she bounded lightlyand elastic; for all the horrid confusion, she seemed to be playing likethe porpoises, also amused in storms. With her foresail taken in, shesimply scudded before the wind. 

It had become quite dark overhead, where stretched the heavily crushingvault. Studded with shapeless gloomy spots, it appeared a set dome, unless a steadier gaze ascertained that everything was in the full rushof motion; endless gray veils were drawn along, unceasingly followed byothers, from the profundities of the sky-line--draperies of darkness, pulled from a never-ending roll. 

The _Marie_ fled faster and faster before the wind; and time fledalso--before some invisible and mysterious power. The gale, the sea, the_Marie_, and the clouds were all lashed into one great madness of hastyflight towards the same point. The fastest of all was the wind; then thehuge seething billows, heavier and slower, toiling after; and, lastly, the smack, dragged into the general whirl. The waves tracked her downwith their white crests, tumbling onward in continual motion, andshe--though always being caught up to and outrun--still managed to eludethem by means of the eddying waters she spurned in her wake, upon whichthey vented their fury. In this similitude of flight the sensationparticularly experienced was of buoyancy, the delight of being carriedalong without effort or trouble, in a springy sort of way. The _Marie_mounted over the waves without any shaking, as if the wind had liftedher clean up; and her subsequent descent was a slide. She almost slidbackward, though, at times, the mountains lowering before her as ifcontinuing to run, and then she suddenly found herself dropped intoone of the measureless hollows that evaded her also; without injury shesounded its horrible depths, amid a loud splashing of water, which didnot even sprinkle her decks, but was blown on and on like everythingelse, evaporating in finer and finer spray until it was thinned away tonothing. In the trough it was darker, and when each wave had passed themen looked behind them to see if the next to appear were higher; itcame upon them with furious contortions, and curling crests, over itstransparent emerald body, seeming to shriek: "Only let me catch you, andI'll swallow you whole!"

But this never came to pass, for, as a feather, the billows softly borethem up and then down so gently; they felt it pass under them, with allits boiling surf and thunderous roar. And so on continually, but the seagetting heavier and heavier. One after another rushed the waves, moreand more gigantic, like a long chain of mountains, with yawning valleys. And the madness of all this movement, under the ever-darkening sky, accelerated the height of the intolerable clamour. 

Yann and Sylvestre stood at the helm, still singing, "Jean Francois deNantes"; intoxicated with the quiver of speed, they sang out loudly, laughing at their inability to hear themselves in this prodigious wrathof the wind. 

"I say, lads, does it smell musty up here too?" called out Guermeur tothem, passing his bearded face up through the half-open hatchway, likeJack-in-the-box. 

Oh, no! it certainly did not smell musty on deck. They were not at allfrightened, being quite conscious of what men can cope with, havingfaith in the strength of their barkey and their arms. And theyfurthermore relied upon the protection of that china Virgin, which hadvoyaged forty years to Iceland, and so often had danced the danceof this day, smiling perpetually between her branches of artificialflowers. 

Generally speaking, they could not see far around them; a few hundredyards off, all seemed entombed in the fearfully big billows, with theirfrothing crests shutting out the view. They felt as if in an enclosure, continually altering shape; and, besides, all things seemed drowned inthe aqueous smoke, which fled before them like a cloud with the greatestrapidity over the heaving surface. But from time to time a gleam ofsunlight pierced through the north-west sky, through which a squallthreatened; a shuddering light would appear from above, a ratherspun-out dimness, making the dome of the heavens denser than before, andfeebly lighting up the surge. This new light was sad to behold; far-offglimpses as they were, that gave too strong an understanding that thesame chaos and the same fury lay on all sides, even far, far behind theseemingly void horizon; there was no limit to its expanse of storm, andthey stood alone in its midst!

A tremendous tumult arose all about, like the prelude of an apocalypse, spreading the terror of the ultimate end of the earth. And amidst itthousands of voices could be heard above, shrieking, bellowing, calling, as from a great distance. It was only the wind, the great motive breathof all this disorder, the voice of the invisible power ruling all. Thencame other voices, nearer and less indefinite, threatening destruction, and making the water shudder and hiss as if on burning coals; thedisturbance increased in terror. 

Notwithstanding their flight, the sea began to gain on them, to "burythem up, " as they phrased it: first the spray fell down on them frombehind, and masses of water thrown with such violence as to breakeverything in their course. The waves were ever increasing, and thetempest tore off their ridges and hurled them, too, upon the poop, likea demon's game of snowballing, till dashed to atoms on the bulwarks. Heavier masses fell on the planks with a hammering sound, tillthe _Marie_ shivered throughout, as if in pain. Nothing could bedistinguished over the side, because of the screen of creamy foam;and when the winds soughed more loudly, this foam formed into whirlingspouts, like the dust of the way in summer time. At length a heavyrain fell crossways, and soon straight up and down, and how all theseelements of destruction yelled together, clashed and interlocked, notongue can tell. 

Yann and Sylvestre stuck staunchly to the helm, covered with theirwaterproofs, hard and shiny as sharkskin; they had firmly secured themat the throat by tarred strings, and likewise at wrists and ankles toprevent the water from running in, and the rain only poured off them;when it fell too heavily, they arched their backs, and held all the morestoutly, not to be thrown over the board. Their cheeks burned, and everyminute their breath was beaten out or stopped. 

After each sea was shipped and rushed over, they exchanged glances, grinning at the crust of salt settled in their beards. 

In the long run though, this became tiresome, an unceasing fury, whichalways promised a worse visitation. The fury of men and beasts soonfalls and dies away; but the fury of lifeless things, without cause orobject, is as mysterious as life and death, and has to be borne for verylong. 

"Jean Francois de Nantes;

Jean Francois, Jean Francois!"

Through their pale lips still came the refrain of the old song, but asfrom a speaking automaton, unconsciously taken up from time to time. Theexcess of motion and uproar had made them dumb, and despite their youththeir smiles were insincere, and their teeth chattered with cold; theireyes, half-closed under their raw, throbbing eyelids, remained glazedin terror. Lashed to the helm, like marble caryatides, they only movedtheir numbed blue hands, almost without thinking, by sheer muscularhabit. With their hair streaming and mouths contracted, they had becomechanged, all the primitive wildness in man appearing again. They couldnot see one another truly, but still were aware of being companioned. In the instants of greatest danger, each time that a fresh mountainof water rose behind them, came to overtower them, and crash horriblyagainst their boat, one of their hands would move as if involuntarily, to form the sign of the cross. They no more thought of Gaud than of anyother woman, or any marrying. The travail was lasting too long, andthey had no thoughts left. The intoxication of noise, cold, and fatiguedrowned all in their brain. They were merely two pillars of stiffenedhuman flesh, held up by the helm; two strong beasts, cowering, butdetermined they would not be overwhelmed. 

CHAPTER II--A PARDONABLE RUSE

In Brittany, towards the end of September, on an already chilly day, Gaud was walking alone across the common of Ploubazlanec, in thedirection of Pors-Even. 

The Icelanders had returned a month back, except two, which had perishedin that June gale. But the _Marie_ had held her own, and Yann and allher crew were peacefully at home. 

Gaud felt very troubled at the idea of going to Yann's house. She hadseen him once since the return from Iceland, when they had all gonetogether to see poor little Sylvestre off to the navy. They accompaniedhim to the coaching-house, he blubbering a little and his grandmotherweeping, and he had started to join the fleet at Brest. 

Yann, who had come also to bid good-bye to his little friend, hadfeigned to look aside when Gaud looked at him, and as there weremany people round the coach to see the other sailors off, and parentsassembled to say good-bye, the pair had not a chance to speak. So, atlast, she had formed a strong resolution, and rather timidly wended herway towards the Gaos's home. 

Her father had formerly had mutual interests with Yann's father(complicated business, which, with peasants and fishers alike, seems tobe endless), and owed him a hundred francs for the sale of a boat, whichhad just taken place in a raffle. 

"You ought to let me carry the money to him, father, " she had said. "I shall be pleased to see Marie Gaos. I never have been so far inPloubazlanec, either, and I shall enjoy the long walk. "

To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious to know Yann's family, which she might some day enter; and she also wanted to see the house andvillage. 

In one of their last chats, before his departure, Sylvestre hadexplained to her, in his own way, his friend's shyness. 

"D'ye see, Gaud, he's like this, he won't marry anybody, that's hisidea; he only loves the sea, and one day even, in fun, he said he hadpromised to be wedded to it. "

Whereupon, she forgave him all his peculiar ways, and remembered onlyhis beautiful open smile on the night of the ball, and she hoped on andon. 

If she were to meet him in his home, of course she would say nothing;she had no intention of being so bold. But if he saw her closely again, perhaps he might speak. 

CHAPTER III--OF SINISTER PORTENT

She had been walking for the last hour, lightly yet oppressed, inhalingthe healthy open breeze whistling up the roads to where they crossed and_Calvaires_ were erected, ghastly highway ornaments of our Saviour onHis cross, to which Bretons are given. 

From time to time she passed through small fishing villages, which arebeaten about by the winds the whole year through till of the colourof the rocks. In one of these hamlets, where the path narrows suddenlybetween dark walls, and between the whitewashed roofs, high and pointedlike Celtic huts, a tavern sign-board made her smile. It was "TheChinese Cider Cellars. " On it were painted two grotesque figures, dressed in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking cider. No doubtthe whim of some old sailor who had been in China. She saw all on herway; people who are greatly engrossed in the object of a journey alwaysfind more amusement than others in its thousand details. 

The tiny village was far behind her now, and as she advanced in thislast promontory of the Breton land, the trees around her became morescarce, and the country more mournful. 

The ground was undulating and rocky, and from all the heights the opensea could be seen. No more trees now; nothing but the shorn heaths withtheir green reeds, and here and there the consecrated crosses rose, their outstretched arms outlined against the sky, giving the wholecountry the aspect of a cemetery. 

At one of the cross-ways, guarded by a colossal image of Christ, shehesitated between two roads running among thorny slopes. 

A child happening to pass, came to her rescue: "Good-day, MademoiselleGaud!"

It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann's wee sisters. Gaud kissedher and asked her if her parents were at home. 

"Father and mother are, yes. But brother Yann, " said the little one, without intent, of course, "has gone to Loguivy; but I don't think he'llbe very late home again. "

So he was not there? Again destiny was between them, everywhere andalways. She thought at first of putting off her visit to another day. But the little lass who had met her might mention the fact. What wouldthey think at Pors-Even? So she decided to go on, but loitering so as togive Yann time to return. 

As she neared his village, in this lost country, all things seemedrougher and more desolate. Sea breezes that made men stronger, madeshorter and more stubbly plants. Seaweeds of all kinds were scatteredover the paths, leaves from growths in another element, proving theexistence of a neighbouring world; their briny odour mingled with theperfume of the heather. 

Now and again Gaud met passers-by, sea-folk, who could be seen a longway off, over the bare country, outlined and magnified against the highsea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the great sea, in passingher wished her good-day. Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs, manly anddetermined under their easy caps. 

Time did not go quickly enough, and she really did not know what to doto lengthen the way; these people seemed surprised at seeing her walk soslowly. 

What could Yann be doing at Loguivy? Courting the girls, perhaps. 

Ah! if she only had known how little he troubled his head about them! Hehad simply gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket-maker, who wasthe only one in the country knowing how to weave lobster pots. His mindwas very free from love just now. 

She passed a chapel, at such a height it could be seen remotely. It wasa little gray old chapel in the midst of the barren. A clump of trees, gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to it, pushed by someinvisible hand all on one side. 

It was that same hand that had wrecked the fishers' boats, the eternalhand of the western winds, and had twisted all the branches of the coasttrees in the direction of the waves and of the off-sea breezes. Theold trees had grown awry and dishevelled, bending their backs under thetime-honoured strength of that hand. 

Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as the chapel in sight was thatof Pors-Even; so she stopped there to win a little more time. 

A petty mouldering wall ran round an enclosure containing tombstones. Everything was of the same colour, chapel, trees, and graves; the wholespot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind; the stones, theknotty branches, and the granite saints, placed in the wall niches, werecovered by the same grayish lichen, splashed pale yellow. 

On one of the wooden crosses this name was written in large letters:

"GAOS. --GAOS, JOEL, 80 years. "

Yes, this was the old grandfather--she knew that--for the sea had notwanted this old sailor. And many of Yann's relatives, besides, slepthere; it was only natural, and she might have expected it; nevertheless, the name upon the tomb had made a sad impression. 

To waste a little more time, she entered to say a prayer under the oldcramped porch, worn away and daubed over with whitewash. But she stoppedagain with a sharp pain at her heart. "Gaos"--again that name, engravedupon one of the slabs erected in memory of those who die at sea. 

She read this inscription:

"To the Memory of GAOS, JEAN-LOUIS, Aged 24 years; seaman on board the_Marguerite_. Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877. May he rest inpeace!"

Iceland--always Iceland! All over the porch were wooden slabs bearingthe names of dead sailors. It was the place reserved for the shipwreckedof Pors-Even. Filled with a dark foreboding she was sorry to have gonethere. 

In Paimpol church she had seen many such inscriptions; but in thisvillage the empty tomb of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad because solone and humble. On each side of the doorway was a granite seat forthe widows and mothers; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like agrotto, was guarded by an old image of the Virgin, coloured red, withlarge staring eyes, looking most like Cybele--the first goddess of theearth. 

"Gaos!" Again!

"To the Memory of GAOS, FRANCOIS, Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster, Captain on board the _Paimpolais_, Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and3d of May, 1877, With the twenty-three men of his crew. May they rest inpeace!"

And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black skull with greeneyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism ofa bygone age. 

"Gaos, Gaos!" The name was everywhere. As she read, thrills of sweettenderness came over her for this Yann of her choice, damped by afeeling of hopelessness. Nay, he would never be hers! How could she tearhim from the sea where so many other Gaoses had gone down, ancestors andbrothers, who must have loved the sea like he! She entered the chapel. It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy frames. Andthere, her heart full of tears that would better have fallen, sheknelt to pray before the colossal saints, surrounded by common flowers, touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads. Outside, the risingwind began to sob as if it brought the death-gasps of the drowned menback to their Fatherland. 

Night drew near; she rose and went on her way. After having asked inthe village, she found the home of the Gaos family, which was built upagainst a high cliff. A dozen granite steps led up to it. Trembling alittle at the thought that Yann might have returned, she crossed thesmall garden where chrysanthemums and veronicas grew. 

When she was indoors, she explained she had come to bring the money forthe boat, and they very politely asked her to sit down, to await thefather's return, as he was the one to sign the receipt for her. Amidstall, her eyes searched for Yann--but did not see him. 

They were very busy in the home. Already they were cutting out the newwaterproof cloth on the clean white table, and getting it ready for theapproaching Iceland season. 

"You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it's like this: every man wants two newsuits. "

They explained to her how they set to work to make them, and to rendertheir seams waterproof with tar, for they were for wet weather wear. And while they worked, Gaud looked attentively around the home of theseGaoses. 

It was furnished after the traditional manner of all Breton cottages;an immense chimney-place took up one whole end, and on the sides of thewalls the Breton beds, bunks, as on shipboard, were placed one aboveanother. But it was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of otherpeasants, which are generally half-hidden by the wayside; it was allfresh and clean, as the homes of seamen usually are. Several littleGaoses were there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of Yann;without counting two big ones, who were already out at sea. And, besides, there was a little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others. 

"We adopted her last year, " explained the mother; "we had enoughchildren as it was, of course, but what else could we do, MademoiselleGaud, for her daddy belonged to the _Maria-Dieu-t'aime_, lost lastseason off Iceland, as you know; so the neighbours divided the littleones between them, and this one fell to our lot. "

Hearing herself spoken of, the adopted child hung her pretty head andsmiled, hiding herself behind little Laumec Gaos, her favourite. 

There was a look of comfort all over the place, and radiant healthbloomed on all the children's rosy cheeks. 

They received Gaud very profusely, like a great lady whose visit was anhonour to the family. She was taken upstairs, up a newly-built woodenstaircase, to see the room above, which was the glory of the home. Sheremembered the history of its construction; it was after the finding ofa derelict vessel in the channel, which luck had befallen Yann's fatherand his cousin the pilot. 

The room was very gay and pretty in its whiteness; there were two townbeds in it, with pink chintz curtains, and a large table in themiddle. Through the window the whole of Paimpol could be seen, withthe Icelanders at anchor off shore, and the channel through which theypassed. 

She did not dare question, but she would have liked to have known whereYann slept; probably as a child he had slept downstairs in one ofthe antique cupboard-beds. But perhaps now he slept under those pinkdraperies. She would have loved to have known all the details of hislife, especially what he did in the long winter evenings. 

A heavy footstep on the stairs made her tremble. But it was not Yann, though a man much like him; notwithstanding his white hair, as tall andas straight. It was old father Gaos returning from fishing. 

After he had saluted her and asked her the object of her visit, hesigned her receipt for her which was rather a long operation, as hishand was not very steady, he explained. 

But he would not accept the hundred francs as a final payment, but onlyas an instalment; he would speak to M. Mevel again about it. WhereuponGaud, to whom money was nothing, smiled imperceptibly; she had fanciedthe business was not quite terminated, and this just suited her. 

They made something like excuses for Yann's absence; as if they found itmore orthodox for the whole family to assemble to receive her. Perhapsthe father had guessed, with the shrewdness of an old salt, that his sonwas not indifferent to this beautiful heiress; for he rather insistedupon talking about him. 

"It's very queer, " said he, "the boy's never so late out. He went overto Loguivy, Mademoiselle Gaud, to buy some lobster baskets; as you know, lobster-catching is our main winter fishery. "

She dreamily lengthened out her call, although conscious that it was toolong already, and feeling a tug at her heart at the idea that she wouldnot see him after all. 

"A well-conducted young man like Yann--what can he be doing? Surely he'snot at the inn. We don't fear that for our lad. I don't say that now andthen, of a Sunday, with his mates----You know, Mademoiselle Gaud, whatthem sailors are. Eh! ye know, he's but a young chap, and must have someliberty now and again. But it's very rare with him to break out, forhe's a straight-goer; we can say that. "

But night was falling, and the work had been folded up. The little oneson the benches around drew closer to one another, saddened by the greydismal gloaming, and eyed Gaud hard, seeming to say--

"Why doesn't she go now?"

On the hearth, the flames burned redder in the midst of the fallingshadows. 

"You ought to stay and have a bit o' supper with us, Mademoiselle Gaud. "

"Oh, no! I couldn't think of it!" The blood rushed to her face at theidea of having remained so late. She got up and took her leave. 

Yann's father also rose to accompany her part of the way, anyhow as faras a lonely nook where the old trees make a dark lane. 

As they walked along together, she felt a sudden sympathy of respectand tenderness towards him; she would have liked to have spoken as to afather in the sudden gushes of feeling that came over her; but the wordswere stifled in her throat, and she said not a word. 

And so they went their way, in the cold evening wind, full of the odourof the sea, passing here and there, on the barren heath, some poorhovels, where beach-combers dwelt and had already sealed themselves upfor the night; dark and neglected they looked under the weather-beatenroofs; these crosses, clumps of reeds, and boulders they left behind. 

What a great way off Pors-Even was, and what a time she had remained!

Now and then they met folks returning from Paimpol or Loguivy; and asshe watched the shadows approach, each time she thought it was Yann;but it was easy to recognise him at a good distance off, and so she wasquickly undeceived. Every moment her feet caught in the brown trailingplants, tangled like hair, which were sea-weeds littering the pathway. 

At the Cross of Plouezoc'h she bade good-bye to the old man, and beggedhim to return. The lights of Paimpol were already in view, and there wasno more occasion to be afraid. 

So hope was over for this time. Who could tell her when she might seeYann again?

An excuse to return to Pors-Even would have been easy; but it wouldreally look too bad to begin her quest all over again. She would have tobe braver and prouder than that. If only her little confidant Sylvestrehad been there, she might have asked him to go and fetch Yann, so thatthere could be some explanation. But he was gone now, and for how manyyears?

CHAPTER IV--HIS RELUCTANCE

"Me get married?" said Yann to his parents that same evening. "Me getmarried? Good heavens, why should I? Shall I ever be as happy as herewith ye? no troubles, no tiffs with any one, and warm soup ready for meevery night when I come home from sea. Oh! I quite understand that youmean the girl that came here to-day, but what's such a rich girl to dowith us? 'Tisn't clear to my thinking. And it'll be neither her, nor anyother. It's all settled, I won't marry--it ain't to my liking. "

The two old Gaoses looked at one another in silence, deeplydisappointed, for, after having talked it over together, they werepretty well sure that this young lady would not refuse their handsomeYann. But they did not try to argue, knowing how useless that would be. The mother lowered her head, and said no more; she respected the willof her son, her eldest born, who was all but the head of the family;although he was always tender and gentle with her, more obedient thana child in the petty things of life, he long ago had been her absolutemaster for the great ones, eluding all restraint with a quiet thoughsavage independence. He never sat up late, being in the habit, likeother fishermen, of rising before break of day. And after supper ateight o'clock, he had given another satisfactory look to his baskets andnew nets from Loguivy, and began to undress--calm to all appearances, and went up to sleep in the pink-curtained bed, which he shared with hislittle brother Laumec. 

CHAPTER V--SAILORS AT THE PLAY

For the last fortnight Gaud's little confidant, Sylvestre, had beenquartered in Brest; very much out of his element, but very quietand obedient to discipline. He wore his open blue sailor-collar andred-balled, flat, woollen cap, with a frank, fearless look, and wasnoble and dignified in his sailor garb, with his free step and tallfigure, but at the bottom of his heart he was still the same innocentboy as ever, and thinking of his dear old grandam. 

One evening he had got tipsy together with some lads from his parts, simply because it is the custom; and they had all returned to thebarracks together arm-in-arm, singing out as lustily as they could. 

And one Sunday, too, they had all gone to the theatre, in the uppergalleries. A melodrama was being played, and the sailors, exasperatedagainst the villain, greeted him with a howl, which they all roaredtogether, like a blast of the Atlantic cyclones. 

CHAPTER VI--ORDERED ON FOREIGN SERVICE

One day Sylvestre was summoned before the officer of his company; andthey told him he was among those ordered out to China--in the squadronfor Formosa. He had been pretty well expecting it for some time, as hehad heard those who read the papers say that out there the war seemednever-ending. 

And because of the urgency of the departure, he was informed at the sametime that he would not be able to have the customary leave for his homefarewells; in five days' time he would have to pack up and be off. 

Then a bitter pain came over him; though charmed at the idea of far-offtravels amid the unknown and of the war. There also was agony at thethought of leaving all he knew and loved, with the vague apprehensionthat he might never more return. 

A thousand noises rang in his head. Around was the bustle of thebarrack-rooms, where hundreds of others were called up, like himself, chosen for the Chinese squadron. And rapidly he wrote to his oldgrandmother, with a stump of pencil, crouching on the floor, alone inhis own feverish dream, though in the thick of the continual hurry andhubbub amidst all the young sailors hurried away like himself. 

CHAPTER VII--MOAN'S SWEETHEART

"His sweetheart's a trifle old!" said the others, a couple of dayslater, as they laughed after Sylvestre and his grandmother, "but theyseem to get on fine together all the same. "

It amused them to see the boy, for the first time, walk through thestreets of Recouvrance, with a woman at his side, like the rest of them;and, bending towards her with a tender look, whisper what seemed to bevery soft nothings. 

She was a very quick, diminutive person seen from behind, with rathershort skirts for the fashion of the day; and a scanty brown shawl, and ahigh Paimpol _coiffe_. She, too, hanging on his arm, turned towards himwith an affectionate glance. 

"A trifle old was his sweetheart!"

That's what the others called after him, we say, but without spite, forany one could see that she was his old granny, come up from the country. She had come, too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified at the news of hissudden departure; for this Chinese war had already cost Paimpol manysailors. So she had scraped together all her poor little savings, puther best Sunday dress and a fresh clean _coiffe_ in a box, and had setout to kiss him once again. 

She had gone straight to the barracks to ask for him; at first hisadjutant had refused to let him go out. 

"If you've anything to say, my good woman, go and speak to the captainyourself. There he is, passing. "

So she calmly walked up to him, and he allowed himself to be won over. 

"Send Moan to change his clothes, to go out, " said he. 

All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in his best attire, while thegood old lady, to make him laugh, of course, made a most inimitablydroll face and a mock curtsey at the adjutant behind his back. 

But when the grandson appeared in his full uniform, with the inevitableturned-down collar, leaving his throat bare, she was quite struck withhis beauty; his black beard was cut into a seamanly fashionable point bythe barber, and his cap was decked out with long floating ribbons, witha golden anchor at each end. For the moment she almost saw in him herson Pierre, who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor in thenavy, and the remembrance of the far past, with all its dead, stealthilyshadowed the present hour. 

But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in-arm they strolled on, happy tobe together; and it was then that the others had pretended to see in herhis sweetheart, and voted her "a trifle old. "

She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an inn kept by some peoplefrom Paimpol, which had been recommended to her as rather cheap. Andthen, still arm-in-arm, they had sauntered through Brest, looking at theshop-windows. There never were such funny stories told as those she toldher grandson to make him laugh; of course all in Paimpol Breton, so thatthe passers-by might not understand. 

CHAPTER VIII--OLD AND YOUNG

She stayed three days with him, three happy days, though over them hunga dark and ominous forecast; one might as well call them three days ofrespite. 

At last she was forced to return to Ploubazlanec, for she had cometo the end of her little savings, and Sylvestre was to embark the dayafterward. The sailors are always inexorably kept in barracks the daybefore foreign cruises (a custom that seems rather barbarous at first, but which is a necessary precaution against the "flings" they would havebefore leaving definitely). 

Oh that last day! She had done her very best to hatch up some more funnystories in her head, to tell her boy just at the parting; but she hadremembered nothing--no; only tears had welled up, and at every momentsobs choked her. Hanging on his arm, she reminded him of a thousandthings he was not to forget to do, and he also tried hard to represshis tears. They had ended by going into a church to say their prayerstogether. 

It was by the night train that she went. To save a few pence, they hadgone on foot to the station; he carrying her box, and holding her on hisstrong arm, upon which she weighed heavily. 

She was so very, very tired--poor old lady! She had scarcely anystrength left after the exertion of the last three or four days. Hershoulders were bent under her brown shawl, and she had no force to bearherself up; her youngish look was gone, and she felt the weight of herseventy-six years. 

Oh! how her heart ached at the thought that it was all over, and thatin a few moments she must leave him! Was he really to go out so far, to China, perhaps to slaughter. She still had him there with her, quiteclose, her poor hands could yet grasp him--and yet he must go; all thestrength of her will, all her tears, and all her great heartrendingdespair--all! would nothing be of avail to keep him back?

With her ticket, and her lunch-basket, and her mittens in her grasp, agitated, she gave him her last blessing and advice, and he answeredher with an obedient "Ay, ay, " bending his head tenderly towards her andgazing lovingly at her, in his soft childish way. 

"Now then, old lady, you must make up your mind plaguey quick if youwant to go by this train!"

The engine whistled. Suddenly terrified at the idea of losing the train, she bore her box from Sylvestre's grasp, and flinging it down, threw herarms round his neck in a last and supreme embrace. 

Many people on the platform stared at them, but not one smiled. Hustledabout by the porters, worn out and full of pain, she pressed intothe first carriage near; the door was banged quickly upon her, whileSylvestre, with all the speed of a young sailor, rushed out of thestation to the rails beside the line to see the train pass. 

A shrill screeching whistle, a noisy grinding of the wheels, and hisgrandmother passed away, leaving him leaning against the gate andswinging up his cap with its flying ribbons, while she, hanging out ofthe window of her third-class carriage, made an answering signal withher handkerchief; and for as long as she could see the dark blue-cladfigure, that was her child, followed him with her eyes, throwing herwhole soul into that "good-bye!" kept back to the last, and alwaysuncertain of realization when sailors are concerned. 

Look long at your little Sylvestre, poor old woman; until the verylatest moment, do not lose sight of his fleeting shadow, which is fadingaway for ever. 

When she could see him no longer, she fell back, completely crushingher still clean unrumpled cap, weeping and sobbing in the agony of deathitself. 

He had turned away slowly, with his head bent, and big tears fallingdown his cheeks. The autumn night had closed in; everywhere the gas wasflaring, and the sailors' riotous feasts had begun anew. Paying no heedto anything about him, he passed through Brest and over the RecouvranceBridge, to the barracks. 

"Whist! here, you darling boy!" called out some nocturnal prowlers tohim; but he passed on, and entering the barracks, flung himself down inhis hammock, weeping, all alone, and hardly sleeping until dawn. 

CHAPTER IX--THE EASTERN VOYAGE

Sylvestre was soon out on the ocean, rapidly whisked away over theunknown seas, far more blue than Iceland's. The ship that carried himoff to the confines of Asia was ordered to go at full speed and stopnowhere. Ere long he felt that he was far away, for the speed wasunceasing, and even without a care for the sea or the wind. As he wasa topman, he lived perched aloft, like a bird, avoiding the soldierscrowded upon the deck. 

Twice they stopped, however, on the coast of Tunis, to take up moreZouaves and mules; from afar he had perceived the white cities amidsands and arid hills. He had even come down from his top to look at thedark-brown men draped in their white robes who came off in small boatsto peddle fruit; his mates told him that these were Bedouins. 

The heat and the sun, which were unlessened by the autumn season, madehim feel out of his element. 

One day they touched at Port Said. All the flags of Europe wavedoverhead from long staves, which gave it an aspect of Babel on afeast-day, and the glistening sands surrounded the town like a movingsea. 

They had stopped there, touching the quays, almost in the midst of thelong streets full of wooden shanties. Since his departure, Sylvestrenever had seen the outside world so closely, and the movement andnumbers of boats excited and amused him. 

With never-ending screeching from their escape-pipes, all these boatscrowded up in the long canal, as narrow as a ditch, which wound itselfin a silvery line through the infinite sands. From his post on high hecould see them as in a procession under a window, till disappearing inthe plain. 

On the canal all kinds of costumes could be seen; men in many-colouredattire, busy and shouting like thunder. And at night the clamour ofconfused bands of music mingled with the diabolical screams of thelocomotives, playing noisy tunes, as if to drown the heart-breakingsorrow of the exiles who for ever passed onward. 

The next day, at sunrise, they, too, glided into the narrow ribbon ofwater between the sands. For two days the steaming in the long filethrough the desert lasted, then another sea opened before them, and theywere once again upon the open. They still ran at full speed through thiswarmer expanse, stained like red marble, with their boiling wake likeblood. Sylvestre remained all the time up in his top, where he wouldhum his old song of "Jean-Francois de Nantes, " to remind him of his dearbrother Yann, of Iceland, and the good old bygone days. 

Sometimes, in the depths of the shadowy distance, some wonderfullytinted mountain would arise. Notwithstanding the distance and thedimness around, the names of those projected capes of countries appearedas the eternal landmarks on the great roadways of the earth to thesteersmen of this vessel; but a topman is carried on like an inanimatething, knowing nothing, and unconscious of the distance over theeverlasting, endless waves. 

All he felt was a terrible estrangement from the things of this world, which grew greater and greater; and the feeling was very defined andexact as he looked upon the seething foam behind, and tried to rememberhow long had lasted this pace that never slackened night or day. Down ondeck, the crowd of men, huddled together in the shadow of the awnings, panted with weariness. The water and the air, even the very light above, had a dull, crushing splendour; and the fadeless glory of those elementswere as a very mockery of the human beings whose physical lives are soephemeral. 

Once, up in his crow's nest, he was gladdened by the sight of flocksof tiny birds, of an unknown species, which fell upon the ship like awhirlwind of coal dust. They allowed themselves to be taken and stroked, being worn out with fatigue. All the sailors had them as pets upon theirshoulders. But soon the most exhausted among them began to die, andbefore long they died by thousands on the rigging, yards, ports, andsails--poor little things!--under the blasting sun of the Red Sea. They had come to destruction, off the Great Desert, fleeing beforea sandstorm. And through fear of falling into the blue waters thatstretched on all sides, they had ended their last feeble flight uponthe passing ship. Over yonder, in some distant region of Libya, they hadbeen fledged in masses. Indeed, there were so many of them, thattheir blind and unkind mother, Nature, had driven away before herthis surplus, as unmoved as if they had been superabundant men. On thescorching funnels and ironwork of the ship they died away; the deck wasstrewn with their puny forms, only yesterday so full of life, songs, andlove. Now, poor little black dots, Sylvestre and the others picked themup, spreading out their delicate blue wings, with a look of pity, andswept them overboard into the abysmal sea. 

Next came hosts of locusts, the spawn of those conjured up by Moses, and the ship was covered with them. At length, though, it surged on alifeless blue sea, where they saw no things around them, except fromtime to time the flying fish skimming along the level water. 

CHAPTER X--THE ORIENT

Rain in torrents, under a heavy black sky. This was India. Sylvestre hadjust set foot upon land, chance selecting him to complete the crew of awhale boat. He felt the warm shower upon him through the thick foliage, and looked around, surprised at the novel sight. All was magnificentlygreen; the leaves of the trees waved like gigantic feathers, and thepeople walking beneath them had large velvety eyes, which seemed toclose under the weight of their lashes. The very wind that brought therain had the odour of musk and flowers. 

At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to come to them. Some happystrain they sang, like the "Whist! here, you darling boy!" so oftenheard at Brest. But seductive as was their country, their call wasimperious and exasperating, making his very flesh shudder. Their perfectbosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin, in which they were solelydraped; they were glowing and polished as in bronze statues. Hesitating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, following them; but theboatswain's sharp shrill whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, summoning him hurriedly back to his boat, about to push off. 

He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's beauties. 

After a second week of the blue sea, they paused off another land ofdewy verdure. A crowd of yellow men appeared, yelling out and pressingon deck, bringing coal in baskets. 

"Already in China?" asked Sylvestre, at the sight of those grotesquefigures in pigtails. 

"Bless you, no, not yet, " they told him; "have a little more patience. "

It was only Singapore. He went up into his mast-top again, to avoid theblack dust tossed about by the breeze, while the coal was feverishlyheaped up in the bunkers from little baskets. 

One day, at length, they arrived off a land called Tourane, where the_Circe_ was anchored, to blockade the port. This was the ship to whichSylvestre had been long ago assigned, and he was left there with hisbag. 

On board he met with two mates from home, Icelanders, who were captainsof guns for the time being. Through the long, hot, still evenings, whenthere was no work to be done, they clustered on deck apart from theothers, to form together a little Brittany of remembrances. 

Five months he passed there in inaction and exile, locked up in thecheerless bay, with the feverish desire to go out and fight and slay, for change's sake. 

CHAPTER XI--A CURIOUS RENCONTRE

In Paimpol again, on the last day of February, before the setting-outfor Iceland. Gaud was standing up against her room door, pale and still. For Yann was below, chatting to her father. She had seen him come in, and indistinctly heard his voice. 

All through the winter they never had met, as if some invincible fatealways had kept them apart. 

After the failure to find him in her walk to Pors-Even, she had placedsome hope on the _Pardon des Islandais_ where there would be manychances for them to see and talk to one another, in the market-place atdusk, among the crowd. 

But on the very morning of the holiday, though the streets were alreadydraped in white and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had fallenin torrents, brought from the west by a soughing wind; never had soblack a sky shadowed Paimpol. "What a pity! the boys won't come overfrom Ploubazlanec now, " had moaned the lasses, whose sweethearts dweltthere. And they did not come, or else had gone straight into the tavernsto drink together. 

There had been no processions or strolls, and she, with her heart achingmore than ever, had remained at her window the whole evening listeningto the water streaming over the roofs, and the fishers' noisy songsrising and falling out of the depths of the taverns. 

For the last few days she had been expecting this visit, surmising trulythat old Gaos would send his son to terminate the business concerningthe sale of the boat, as he did not care to come into Paimpol himself. She determined then that she would go straight to him, and, unlike othergirls, speak out frankly, to have her conscience clear on the subject. She would reproach him with having sought her out and having abandonedher like a man without honour. If it were only stubbornness, timidity, his great love for his sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, asSylvestre had hinted, why, all these objections would disappear, aftera frank, fair understanding between them. His fond smile might return, which had charmed and won her the winter before, and all would besettled. This hope gave her strength and courage, and sweetened herimpatience. From afar, things always appear so easy and simple to sayand to do. 

This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a convenient hour. She was surethat her father, who was sitting and smoking, would not get up to walkpart of the way with him; so in the empty passage she might have herexplanation out with him. 

But now that the time had come, such boldness seemed extreme. The bareidea of looking him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made hertremble; and her heart beat as if it would break. At any moment the doorbelow might open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let him out!

"No, no, she never would dare; rather would she die of longing andsorrow, than attempt such an act. " She already made a few return stepstowards the back of her room, to regain her seat and work. But shestopped again, hesitating and afraid, remembering that to-morrow was thesailing day for Iceland, and that this occasion stood alone. If shelet it slip by, she would have to wait through months upon months ofsolitude and despair, languishing for his return--losing another wholesummer of her life. 

Below, the door opened--Yann was coming out!

Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and tremblingly stood beforehim. 

"Monsieur Yann, I--I wish to speak to you, please. "

"To me, Mademoiselle Gaud?" queried he, lowering his voice and snatchingoff his hat. 

He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expression in his flashing eyes, and his head thrown back, seeming even to wonder if he ought to stopfor her at all. With one foot ready to start away, he stood straight upagainst the wall, as if to be as far apart from her as possible, in thenarrow passage, where he felt imprisoned. 

Paralyzed, she could remember nothing of what she had wished to say; shehad not thought he would try and pass on without listening to her. Whatan affront!

"Does our house frighten you, Monsieur Yann?" she asked, in a dry, oddtone--not at all the one she wished to use. 

He turned his eyes away, looking outside; his cheeks blazed red, a rushof blood burned all his face, and his quivering nostrils dilated withevery breath, keeping time with the heavings of his chest, like a youngbull's. 

"The night of the ball, " she tried to continue, "when we were together, you bade me good-bye, not as a man speaks to an indifferent person. Monsieur Yann, have you no memory? What have I done to vex you?"

The nasty western breeze blowing in from the street ruffled his hairand the frills of Gaud's _coiffe_, and behind them a door was bangedfuriously. The passage was not meet for talking of serious matters in. After these first phrases, choking, Gaud remained speechless, feelingher head spin, and without ideas. They still advanced towards the streetdoor; he seemed so anxious to get away, and she was so determined not tobe shaken off. 

Outside the wind blew noisily and the sky was black. A sad livid lightfell upon their faces through the open door. And an opposite neighbourlooked at them: what could the pair be saying to one another in thatpassage together, looking so troubled? What was wrong over at theMevel's?

"Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, " he answered at last, turning away with thepowerful grace of a young lion, "I've heard folks talk about us quiteenough already! Nay, Mademoiselle Gaud, for, you see, you are rich, andwe are not people of the same class. I am not the fellow to come after a'swell' lady. "

He went forth on his way. So now all was over for ever and ever. She hadnot even said what she wished in that interview, which had only made herseem a very bold girl in his sight. What kind of a fellow was this Yann, with his contempt for women, his scorn for money, and all desirablethings?

At first she remained fixed to the spot, sick with giddiness, as thingsswam around her. One intolerably painful thought suddenly struck herlike a flash of lightning--Yann's comrades, the Icelanders, were waitingfor him below in the market-place. What if he were to tell them thisas a good joke--what a still more odious affront upon her! She quicklyreturned to her room to watch them through her window-curtains. 

Before the house, indeed, she saw the men assembled, but they weresimply contemplating the weather, which was becoming worse and worse, and discussed the threatening rain. 

"It'll only be a shower. Let's go in and drink away the time, till itpasses. "

They poked jokes and laughed loudly over Jeannie Caroff and otherbeauties; but not even one of them looked up at _her_ window. They wereall joyful, except Yann, who said nothing, and remained grave and sad. He did not go in to drink with them; and without noticing either themor the rain, which had begun to fall, he slowly walked away underthe shower, as if absorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-placetowards Ploubazlanec. 

Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of hopeless tenderness for himcame, instead of the bitter disappointment that previously had filledher heart. She sat down and held her head between her hands. What couldshe do now?

Oh! if he had listened only a moment to her, or if he could come intothat room, where they might speak together alone, perhaps all might yetbe arranged. She loved him enough to tell him so to his face. She wouldsay to him: "You sought me out when I asked you for nothing; now I amyours with my whole soul, if you will have me. I don't mind a bit beingthe wife of a fisherman, and yet, if I liked, I need but chooseamong all the young men of Paimpol; but I do love you, because, notwithstanding all, I believe you to be better than others. I'mtolerably well-to-do, and I know I am pretty; although I have livedin towns, I am sure that I am not a spoiled girl, as I never have doneanything wrong; then, if I love you so, why shouldn't you take me?"

But all this never would be said except in dreams; it was too late! Yannwould not hear her. Try and talk to him a second time? Oh, no! what kindof a creature would he take her then to be? She would rather die. 

Yet to-morrow they would all start for Iceland. The whitish Februarydaylight streamed into her fine room. Chill and lonely she fell uponone of the chairs along the wall. It seemed to her as if the whole worldwere crashing and falling in around her. All things past and presentwere as if buried in a fearful abyss, which yawned on all sides of her. She wished her life would end, and that she were lying calm beneath somecold tombstone, where no more pain might touch her. 

But she had sincerely forgiven him, and no hatred mingled with herdesperate love. 

CHAPTER XII--STRIKING THE ROCK UNKNOWN

The sea, the gray sea once more, where Yann was gently gliding along itsbroad, trackless road, that leads the fishermen every year to the Landof Ice. 

The day before, when they all had set off to the music of the old hymns, there blew a brisk breeze from the south, and all the ships with theiroutspread sails had dispersed like so many gulls; but that breeze hadsuddenly subsided, and speed had diminished; great fog-banks covered thewatery surface. 

Yann was perhaps quieter than usual. He said that the weather was toocalm, and appeared to excite himself, as if he would drive away somecare that weighed upon him. But he had nothing to do but be carriedserenely in the midst of serene things; only to breathe and let himselflive. On looking out, only the deep gray masses around could be seen; onlistening, only silence. 

Suddenly there was an almost imperceptible rumbling, which came frombelow, accompanied by a grinding sensation, as when a brake comes harddown on carriage wheels. The _Marie_ ceased all movement. They hadstruck. Where, and on what? Some bank off the English coast probably. For since overnight they had been able to see nothing, with thosecurtains of mist. 

The men ran and rushed about, their bustle contrasting strongly withthe sudden rigidity of their ship. How had the _Marie_ come to a stop inthat spot? In the midst of that immensity of fluid in this dull weather, seeming to be almost without consistence, she had been seized by someresistless immovable power hidden beneath the waves; she was tight inits grasp, and might perish there. 

Who has not seen poor birds caught by their feet in the lime? At firstthey can scarcely believe they are caught; it changes nothing in theiraspect; but they soon are sure that they are held fast, and in dangerof never getting free again. And when they struggle to get free, andthe sticky stuff soils their wings and heads, they gradually assume thatpitiful look of a dumb creature in distress, about to die. Such was thecase with the _Marie_. At first it did not seem much to be concernedabout; she certainly was careened a little on one side, but it was broadmorning, and the weather was fair and calm; one had to know such thingsby experience to become uneasy, and understand that it was a seriousmatter. 

The captain was to be pitied. It was his fault, as he had not understoodexactly where they were. He wrung his hands, saying: "God help us! Godhelp us!" in a voice of despair. 

Close to them, during a lifting of the fog, they could distinguish aheadland, but not recognize it. But the mists covered it anew, and theysaw it no longer. 

There was no sail or smoke in sight. They all jostled about, hurryingand knocking the deck lumber over. Their dog Turc, who did not usuallymind the movement of the sea, was greatly affected too by this incident, these sounds from down below, these heavy wallowings when the lowswell passed under, and the sudden calm that afterwards followed; heunderstood that all this was unusual, and hid himself away in corners, with his tail between his legs. They got out the boats to carry thekedges and set them firm, and tried to row her out of it by uniting alltheir forces together upon the tow-lines--a heavy piece of work this, which lasted ten successive hours. So, when evening came, the poorbark, which had only that morning been so fresh and light, looked almostswamped, fouled, and good for nothing. She had fought hard, flounderedabout on all sides, but still remained there, fixed as in a dock. 

Night was overtaking them; the wind and the waves were rising; thingswere growing worse, when, all of a sudden, towards six o'clock, they were let go clear, and could be off again, tearing asunder thetow-lines, which they had left to keep her head steady. The men wept, rushing about like madmen, cheering from stem to stern--"We're afloat, boys!"

They were afloat, with a joy that cannot be described; what it was tofeel themselves going forwards on a buoyant craft again, instead of onthe semi-wreck it was before, none but a seaman feels, and few of themcan tell. 

Yann's sadness had disappeared too. Like his ship, he became lively oncemore, cured by the healthy manual labour; he had found his reckless lookagain, and had thrown off his glum thoughts. 

Next morning, when the kedges were fished up, the _Marie_ went on herway to Iceland, and Yann's heart, to all appearance, was as free as inhis early years. 

CHAPTER XIII--HOME NEWS

The home letters were being distributed on board the _Circe_, at anchorat Ha-Long, over on the other side of the earth. In the midst of a groupof sailors, the purser called out, in a loud voice, the names of thefortunate men who had letters to receive. This went on at evening, onthe ship's side, all crushing round a funnel. 

"Moan, Sylvestre!" There was one for him, postmarked "Paimpol, " but itwas not Gaud's writing. What did that mean? from whom did it come else?

After having turned and flourished it about, he opened it fearingly, andread:

"PLOUBAZLANEC, March 5th, 1884. 

"MY DEAR GRANDSON:"

So, it was from his dear old granny. He breathed free again. At thebottom of the letter she even had placed her signature, learned byheart, but trembling like a school-girl's scribble: "Widow Moan. "

"Widow Moan!" With a quick spontaneous movement he carried the paper tohis lips and kissed the poor name, as a sacred relic. For this letterarrived at a critical moment of his life; to-morrow at dawn, he was toset out for the battlefield. 

It was in the middle of April; Bac-Ninh and Hong-Hoa had just beentaken. There was no great warfare going on in Tonquin, yet thereinforcements arriving were not sufficient; sailors were taken fromall the ships to make up the deficit in the corps already disembarked. Sylvestre, who had languished so long in the midst of cruises andblockades, had just been selected with some others to fill up thevacancies. 

It is true that now peace was spoken of, but something told them thatthey yet would disembarck in good time to fight a bit. They packed theirbags, made all their other preparations, and said good-bye, and all theevening through they strolled about with their unfortunate mates who hadto remain, feeling much grander and prouder than they. Each in hisown way showed his impression at this departure--some were grave andserious, others exuberant and talkative. 

Sylvestre was very quiet and thoughtful, though impatient; only, whenthey looked at him, his smile seemed to say, "Yes, I'm one of thefighting party, and huzza! the action is for to-morrow morning!"

Of gunshots and battle he formed but an incomplete idea as yet; but theyfascinated him, for he came of a valiant race. 

The strange writing of his letter made him anxious about Gaud, and hedrew near a porthole to read the epistle through. It was difficult amidall those half-naked men pressing round, in the unbearable heat of thegundeck. 

As he thought she would do, in the beginning of her letter Granny Moanexplained why she had had to take recourse to the inexperienced hand ofan old neighbour:

"My dear child, I don't ask your cousin to write for me to-day, as sheis in great trouble. Her father died suddenly two days ago. It appearsthat his whole fortune has been lost through unlucky gambling lastwinter in Paris. So his house and furniture will have to be sold. Nobodyin the place was expecting this. I think, dear child, that this willpain you as much as it does me. 

"Gaos, the son, sends you his kind remembrance; he has renewed hisarticles with Captain Guermeur of the _Marie_, and the departure forIceland was rather early this year, for they set sail on the first ofthe month, two days before our poor Gaud's trouble, and he don't know ofit yet. 

"But you can easily imagine that we shall not get them wed now, for shewill be obliged to work for her daily bread. "

Sylvestre dwelt stupor-stricken; this bad news quite spoiled his glee atgoing out to fight. 

PART III -- IN THE SHADOW

CHAPTER I--THE SKIRMISH

Hark! a bullet hurtles through the air!

Sylvestre stops short to listen!

He is upon an infinite meadow, green with the soft velvet carpet ofspring. The sky is gray, lowering, as if to weigh upon one's veryshoulders. 

They are six sailors reconnoitring among the fresh rice-fields, in amuddy pathway. 

Hist! again the whizz, breaking the silence of the air--a shrill, continuous sound, a kind of prolonged _zing_, giving one a strongimpression that the pellets buzzing by might have stung fatally. 

For the first time in his life Sylvestre hears that music. The bulletscoming towards a man have a different sound from those fired by himself:the far-off report is attenuated, or not heard at all, so it is easierto distinguish the sharp rush of metal as it swiftly passes by, almostgrazing one's ears. 

Crack! whizz! ping! again and yet again! The balls fall in regularshowers now. Close by the sailors they stop short, and are buried inthe flooded soil of the rice-fields, accompanied by a faint splash, likehail falling sharp and swift in a puddle of water. 

The marines looked at one another as if it was all a piece of odd fun, and said:

"Only John Chinaman! pish!"

To the sailors, Annamites, Tonquinese, or "Black Flags" are all of thesame Chinese family. It is difficult to show their contempt and mockingrancour, as well as eagerness for "bowling over the beggars, " when theyspeak of "the Chinese. "

Two or three bullets are still flying about, more closely grazing; theycan be seen bouncing like grasshoppers in the green. The slight showerof lead did not last long. 

Perfect silence returns to the broad verdant plain, and nowhere cananything be seen moving. The same six are still there, standing on thewatch, scenting the breeze, and trying to discover whence the volleycame. Surely from over yonder, by that clump of bamboos, which lookslike an island of feathers in the plain; behind it several pointed roofsappear half hidden. So they all made for it, their feet slipping orsinking into the soaked soil. Sylvestre runs foremost, on his longer, more nimble legs. 

No more buzz of bullets; they might have thought they were dreaming. 

As in all the countries of the world, some features are the same; thecloudy gray skies and the fresh tints of fields in spring-time, forexample; one could imagine this upon French meadows, and these youngfellows, running merrily over them, playing a very different sport fromthis game of death. 

But as they approach, the bamboos show the exotic delicacy of theirfoliage, and the village roofs grow sharper in the singularity of theircurves, and yellow men hidden behind advance to reconnoitre; their flatfaces are contracted by fear and spitefulness. Then suddenly they rushout screaming, and deploy into a long line, trembling, but decided anddangerous. 

"The Chinese!" shout the sailors again, with their same brave smile. 

But this time they find that there are a good many--too many; and one ofthem turning round perceives other Chinese coming from behind, springingup from the long tall grass. 

At this moment, young Sylvestre came out grand; his old granny wouldhave been proud to see him such a warrior. Since the last few days hehad altered. His face was bronzed, and his voice strengthened. He was inhis own element here. 

In a moment of supreme indecision the sailors hit by the bullets almostyielded to an impulse of retreat, which would certainly have been deathto them all; but Sylvestre continued to advance, clubbing his rifle, andfighting a whole band, knocking them down right and left with smashingblows from the butt-end. Thanks to him the situation was reversed;that panic or madness that blindly deceives all in these leaderlessskirmishes had now passed over to the Chinese side, and it was they whobegan to retreat. 

It was soon all over; they were fairly taking to their heels. The sixsailors, reloading their repeating rifles, shot them down easily; uponthe grass lay dead bodies by red pools, and skulls were emptying theirbrains into the river. 

They fled, cowering like leopards. Sylvestre ran after them, although hehad two wounds--a lance-thrust in the thigh and a deep gash in his arm;but feeling nothing save the intoxication of battle, that unreasoningfever that comes of vigorous blood, gives lofty courage to simple souls, and made the heroes of antiquity. 

One whom he was pursuing turned round, and with a spasm of desperateterror took a deliberate aim at him. Sylvestre stopped short, smilingscornfully, sublime, to let him fire, and seeing the direction of theaim, only shifted a little to the left. But with the pressure upon thetrigger the barrel of the Chinese jingal deviated slightly in the samedirection. He suddenly felt a smart rap upon his breast, and in a flashof thought understood what it was, even before feeling any pain; heturned towards the others following, and tried to cry out to them thetraditional phrase of the old soldier, "I think it's all up with me!" Inthe great breath that he inhaled after having run, to refill his lungswith air, he felt the air rush in also by a hole in his right breast, with a horrible gurgling, like the blast in a broken bellows. In thatsame time his mouth filled with blood, and a sharp pain shot throughhis side, which rapidly grew worse, until it became atrocious andunspeakable. He whirled round two or three times, his brain swimmingtoo; and gasping for breath through the rising red tide that choked him, fell heavily in the mud. 

CHAPTER II--"OUT, BRIEF CANDLE!"

About a fortnight later, as the sky was darkening at the approach of therains, and the heat more heavily weighed over yellow Tonquin, Sylvestre brought to Hanoi, was sent to Ha-Long, and placed on board ahospital-ship about to return to France. 

He had been carried about for some time on different stretchers, withintervals of rest at the ambulances. They had done all they could forhim; but under the insufficient conditions, his chest had filled withwater on the pierced side, and the gurgling air entered through thewound, which would not close up. 

He had received the military medal, which gave him a moment's joy. Buthe was no longer the warrior of old--resolute of gait, and steady in hisresounding voice. All that had vanished before the long-suffering andweakening fever. He had become a home-sick boy again; he hardly spokeexcept in answering occasional questions, in a feeble and almostinaudible voice. To feel oneself so sick and so far away; to think thatit wanted so many days before he could reach home! Would he ever liveuntil then, with his strength ebbing away? Such a terrifying feelingof distance continually haunted him and weighed at every wakening; andwhen, after a few hours' stupor, he awoke from the sickening pain of hiswounds, with feverish heat and the whistling sound in his pierced bosom, he implored them to put him on board, in spite of everything. He wasvery heavy to carry into his ward, and without intending it, they gavehim some cruel jolts on the way. 

They laid him on one of the iron camp bedsteads placed in rows, hospitalfashion, and then he set out in an inverse direction, on his longjourney through the seas. Instead of living like a bird in the fullwind of the tops, he remained below deck, in the midst of the bad air ofmedicines, wounds, and misery. 

During the first days the joy of being homeward bound made him feel alittle better. He could even bear being propped up in bed with pillows, and at times he asked for his box. His seaman's chest was a deal box, bought in Paimpol, to keep all his loved treasures in; inside wereletters from Granny Yvonne, and also from Yann and Gaud, a copy-bookinto which he had copied some sea-songs, and one of the works ofConfucius in Chinese, caught up at random during pillage; on the blanksides of its leaves he had written the simple account of his campaign. 

Nevertheless he got no better, and after the first week, the doctorsdecided that death was imminent. They were near the Line now, in thestifling heat of storms. The troop-ship kept on her course, shaking herbeds, the wounded and the dying; quicker and quicker she sped over thetossing sea, troubled still as during the sway of the monsoons. 

Since leaving Ha-Long more than one patient died, and was consigned tothe deep water on the high road to France; many of the narrow beds nolonger bore their suffering burdens. 

Upon this particular day it was very gloomy in the travelling hospital;on account of the high seas it had been necessary to close the ironport-lids, which made the stifling sick-room more unbearable. Sylvestrewas worse; the end was nigh. Lying always upon his wounded side, hepressed upon it with both hands with all his remaining strength, to tryand allay the watery decomposition that rose in his right lung, and tobreathe with the other lung only. But by degrees the other was affectedand the ultimate agony had begun. 

Dreams and visions of home haunted his brain; in the hot darkness, beloved or horrible faces bent over him; he was in a never-endinghallucination, through which floated apparitions of Brittany andIceland. In the morning was called in the priest, and the old man, whowas used to seeing sailors die, was astonished to find so pure a soul inso strong and manly a body. 

He cried out for air, air! but there was none anywhere; the ventilatorsno long gave any; the attendant, who was fanning him with a Chinesefan, only moved unhealthy vapours over him of sickening staleness, whichrevolted all lungs. Sometimes fierce, desperate fits came over him; hewished to tear himself away from that bed, where he felt death wouldcome to seize him, and rush above into the full fresh wind and try tolive again. Oh! to be like those others, scrambling about among therigging, and living among the masts. But his extreme effort onlyended in the feeble lifting of his weakened head; something like theincompleted movement of a sleeper. He could not manage it, but fell backin the hollow of his crumpled bed, partly chained there by death; andeach time, after the fatigue of a like shock, he lost all consciousness. 

To please him they opened a port at last, although it was dangerous, thesea being very rough. It was going on for six in the evening. When thedisk was swung back, a red light entered, glorious and radiant. Thedying sun appeared upon the horizon in dazzling splendour, through atorn rift in a gloomy sky; its blinding light glanced over the waves, and lit up the floating hospital, like a waving torch. 

But no air rushed in; the little there was outside, was powerless toenter and drive before it the fevered atmosphere. Over all sides of thatboundless equatorial sea, floated a warm and heavy moisture, unfit forrespiration. No air on any side, not even for the poor gasping fellowson their deathbeds. 

One vision disturbed him greatly; it was of his old grandmother, walkingquickly along a road, with a heartrending look of alarm; from low-lyingfunereal clouds above her, fell the drizzling rain; she was on her wayto Paimpol, summoned thither to be informed of his death. 

He was struggling now, with the death-rattle in his throat. From thecorners of his mouth they sponged away the water and blood, which hadwelled up in quantities from his chest in writhing agony. Still thegrand, glorious sun lit up all, like a conflagration of the whole world, with blood-laden clouds; through the aperture of the port-hole, a widestreak of crimson fire blazed in, and, spreading over Sylvestre's bed, formed a halo around him. 

At that very moment that same sun was to be seen in Brittany, wheremidday was about to strike. It was, indeed, the same sun, beheld at theprecise moment of its never-ending round; but here it kept quite anotherhue. Higher up in the bluish sky, it kept shedding a soft white light ongrandmother Yvonne, sitting out at her door, sewing. 

In Iceland, too, where it was morning, it was shining at that samemoment of death. Much paler there, it seemed as if it only showed itsface by some miracle. Sadly it shed its rays over the fjord where _LaMarie_ floated; and now its sky was lit up by a pure northern light, which always gives the idea of a frozen planet's reflection, without anatmosphere. With a cold accuracy, it outlined all the essentials of thatstony chaos that is Iceland; the whole of the country as seen from _LaMarie_ seemed fixed in one same perspective and held upright. Yann wasthere, lit up by a strange light, fishing, as usual, in the midst ofthis lunar-like scenery. 

As the beam of fiery flame that came through the port-hole faded, andthe sun disappeared completely under the gilded billows, the eyes of thegrandson rolled inward toward his brow as if to fall back into his head. 

They closed his eyelids with their own long lashes, and Sylvestrebecame calm and beautiful again, like a reclining marble statue of manlyrepose. 

CHAPTER III--THE GRAVE ABROAD

I cannot refrain from telling you about Sylvestre's funeral, which Iconducted myself in Singapore. We had thrown enough other dead into theSea of China, during the early days of the home voyage; and as the Malayland was quite near, we decided to keep his remains a few hours longer;to bury him fittingly. 

It was very early in the morning, on account of the terrible sun. In theboat that carried him ashore, his corpse was shrouded in the nationalflag. The city was in sleep as we landed. A wagonette, sent by theFrench Consul, was waiting on the quay; we laid Sylvestre upon it, with a wooden cross made on board--the paint still wet upon it, for thecarpenter had to hurry over it, and the white letters of his name raninto the black ground. 

We crossed that Babel in the rising sun. And then it was such an emotionto find the serene calm of an European place of worship in the midstof the distasteful turmoil of the Chinese country. Under the high whitearch, where I stood alone with my sailors, the "_Dies Iroe_, " chantedby a missionary priest, sounded like a soft magical incantation. Throughthe open doors we could see sights that resembled enchanted gardens, exquisite verdure and immense palm-trees, the wind shook the largeflowering shrubs and their perfumed crimson petals fell like rain, almost to the church itself. Thence we marched to the ceremony, very faroff. Our little procession of sailors was very unpretentious, but thecoffin remained conspicuously wrapped in the flag of France. We had totraverse the Chinese quarter, through seething crowds of yellow men;and then the Malay and Indian suburbs, where all types of Asiatic faceslooked upon us with astonishment. 

Then came the open country already heated; through shady groves whereexquisite butterflies, on velvety blue wings, flitted in masses. Oneither side, waved tall luxuriant palms, and quantities of flowers insplendid profusion. At last we came to the cemetery, with mandarins'tombs and many-coloured inscriptions, adorned with paintings ofdragons and other monsters; amid astounding foliage and plants growingeverywhere. The spot where we laid him down to rest resembled a nook inthe gardens of Indra. Into the earth we drove the little wooden cross, lettered:

SYLVESTRE MOAN, AGED 19. 

And we left him, forced to go because of the hot rising sun; we turnedback once more to look at him under those marvellous trees and hugenodding flowers. 

CHAPTER IV--TO THE SURVIVORS, THE SPOILS

The trooper continued its course through the Indian Ocean. Down belowin the floating hospital other death-scenes went on. On deck there wascarelessness of health and youth. Round about, over the sea, was a veryfeast of pure sun and air. 

In this fine trade-wind weather, the sailors, stretched in the shadeof the sails, were playing with little pet parrots and making them runraces. In this Singapore, which they had just left, the sailors buy allkinds of tame animals. They had all chosen baby parrots, with childishlooks upon their hooknose faces; they had no tails yet; they were green, of a wonderful shade. As they went running over the clean white planks, they looked like fresh young leaves, fallen from tropical trees. 

Sometimes the sailors gathered them all together in one lot, when theyinspected one another funnily; twisting about their throats, to beseen under all aspects. They comically waddled about like so manylame people, or suddenly started off in a great hurry for some unknowndestination; and some fell down in their excitement. And there weremonkeys, learning tricks of all kinds, another source of amusement. Somewere most tenderly loved and even kissed extravagantly, as they nestledagainst the callous bosoms of their masters, gazing fondly at them withwomanish eyes, half-grotesque and half-touching. 

Upon the stroke of three o'clock, the quartermasters brought on deck twocanvas bags, sealed with huge red seals, bearing Sylvestre's name; forby order of the regulations in regard to the dead, all his clothes andpersonal worldly belongings were to be sold by auction. The sailorsgaily grouped themselves around the pile; for, on board a hospital ship, too many of these sales of effects are seen to excite any particularemotion. Besides, Sylvestre had been but little known upon that ship. 

His jackets and shirts and blue-striped jerseys were fingered and turnedover and then bought up at different prices, the buyers forcing thebidding just to amuse themselves. 

Then came the turn of the small treasure-box, which was sold for fiftysous. The letters and military medal had been taken out of it, to besent back to the family; but not the book of songs and the work ofConfucious, with the needles, cotton, and buttons, and all the pettyrequisites placed there by the forethought of Granny Moan for sewing andmending. 

Then the quartermaster who held up the things to be sold drew out twosmall buddhas, taken in some pagoda to give to Gaud, and so funny werethey that they were greeted with a general burst of laughter, whenthey appeared as the last lot. But the sailors laughed, not for want ofheart, but only through thoughtlessness. 

To conclude, the bags were sold, and the buyer immediately struck outthe name on them to substitute his own. 

A careful sweep of the broom was afterward given to clear thescrupulously clean deck of the dust and odds and ends, while the sailorsreturned merrily to play with their parrots and monkeys. 

CHAPTER V--THE DEATH-BLOW

One day, in the first fortnight of June, as old Yvonne was returninghome, some neighbours told her that she had been sent for by theCommissioner from the Naval Registry Office. Of course it concerned hergrandson, but that did not frighten her in the least. The families ofseafarers are used to the Naval Registry, and she, the daughter, wife, mother, and grandmother of seamen, had known that office for the pastsixty years. 

Doubtless it had to do with his "delegation"; or perhaps there was asmall prize-money account from _La Circe_ to take through her proxy. Asshe knew what respect was due to "_Monsieur le Commissaire_, " she put onher best gown and a clean white cap, and set out about two o'clock. 

Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of the cliff, she neared Paimpol;and musing upon these two months without letters, she grew a bitanxious. 

She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his door. He had greatly agedsince the appearance of the winter cold. 

"Eh, eh! When you're ready, you know, don't make any ceremony, mybeauty!" That "suit of deal" still haunted his mind. 

The joyous brightness of June smiled around her. On the rocky heightsthere still grew the stunted reeds with their yellow blossoms; butpassing into the hollow nooks sheltered against the bitter sea winds, one met with high sweet-smelling grass. But the poor old woman did notsee all this, over whose head so many rapid seasons had passed, whichnow seemed as short as days. 

Around the crumbling hamlet with its gloomy walls grew roses, pinks, and stocks; and even up on the tops of the whitewashed and mossy roofs, sprang the flowerets that attracted the first "miller" butterflies ofthe season. 

This spring-time was almost without love in the land of Icelanders, and the beautiful lasses of proud race, who sat out dreaming on theirdoorsteps, seemed to look far beyond the visible things with their blueor brown eyes. The young men, who were the objects of their melancholyand desires, were remote, fishing on the northern seas. 

But it was a spring-time for all that--warm, sweet, and troubling, withits buzzing of flies and perfume of young plants. 

And all this soulless freshness smiled upon the poor old grandmother, who was quickly walking along to hear of the death of her last-borngrandson. She neared the awful moment when this event, which had takenplace in the so distant Chinese seas, was to be told to her; shewas taking that sinister walk that Sylvestre had divined at hisdeath-hour--the sight of that had torn his last agonized tears from him;his darling old granny summoned to Paimpol to be told that he was dead!Clearly he had seen her pass along that road, running straight on, with her tiny brown shawl, her umbrella, and large head-dress. And thatapparition had made him toss and writhe in fearful anguish, while thehuge, red sun of the Equator, disappearing in its glory, peered throughthe port-hole of the hospital to watch him die. But he, in his lasthallucination, had seen his old granny moving under a rain-laden sky, and on the contrary a joyous laughing spring-time mocked her on allsides. 

Nearing Paimpol, she became more and more uneasy, and improved herspeed. Now she is in the gray town with its narrow granite streets, where the sun falls, bidding good-day to some other old women, hercontemporaries, sitting at their windows. Astonished to see her; theysaid: "Wherever is she going so quickly, in her Sunday gown, on aweek-day?"

"Monsieur le Commissaire" of the Naval Enlistment Office was not in justthen. One ugly little creature, about fifteen years old, who was hisclerk, sat at his desk. As he was too puny to be a fisher, he hadreceived some education and passed his time in that same chair, in hisblack linen dust-sleeves, scratching away at paper. 

With a look of importance, when she had said her name, he got up to getthe official documents from off a shelf. 

There were a great many papers--what did it all mean? Parchments, sealedpapers, a sailor's record-book, grown yellow on the sea, and over allfloated an odour of death. He spread them all out before the poor oldwoman, who began to tremble and feel dizzy. She had just recognized twoof the letters which Gaud used to write for her to her grandson, andwhich were now returned to her never unsealed. The same thing hadhappened twenty years ago at the death of her son Pierre; the lettershad been sent back from China to "Monsieur le Commissaire, " who hadgiven them to her thus. 

Now he was reading out in a consequential voice: "Moan, Jean-Marie-Sylvestre, registered at Paimpol, folio 213, number 2091, died on board the _Bien Hoa_, on the 14th of ----. "

"What--what has happened to him, my good sir?"

"Discharged--dead, " he answered. 

It wasn't because this clerk was unkind, but if he spoke in that brutalway, it was through want of judgment, and from lack of intelligence inthe little incomplete being. 

As he saw that she did not understand that technical expression, he saidin Breton:

"_Marw eo_!"

"_Marw eo_!" (He is dead. )

She repeated the words after him, in her aged tremulous voice, as a poorcracked echo would send back some indifferent phrase. So what she hadpartly foreseen was true; but it only made her tremble; now that it wascertain, it seemed to affect her no more. To begin with, her facultyto suffer was slightly dulled by old age, especially since this lastwinter. Pain did not strike her immediately. Something seemed to fallupside down in her brain, and somehow or another she mixed this death upwith others. She had lost so many of them before. She needed a momentto grasp that this was her very last one, her darling, the object ofall her prayers, life, and waiting, and of all her thoughts, alreadydarkened by the sombre approach of second childhood. 

She felt a sort of shame at showing her despair before this littlegentleman who horrified her. Was that the way to tell a grandmother ofher darling's death? She remained standing before the desk, stiffened, and tearing the fringes of her brown shawl with her poor aged hands, sore and chapped with washing. 

How far away she felt from home! Goodness! what a long walk back to begone through, and steadily, too, before nearing the whitewashed hut inwhich she longed to shut herself up, like a wounded beast who hidesin its hole to die. And so she tried not to think too much and not tounderstand yet, frightened above all at the long home-journey. 

They gave her an order to go and take, as the heiress, the thirty francsthat came from the sale of Sylvestre's bag; and then the letters, thecertificates, and the box containing the military medal. 

She took the whole parcel awkwardly with open fingers, unable to findpockets to put them in. 

She went straight through Paimpol, looking at no one, her body bentslightly like one about to fall, with a rushing of blood in her ears;pressing and hurrying along like some poor old machine, which could notbe wound up, at a great pressure, for the last time, without fear ofbreaking its springs. 

At the third mile she went along quite bent in two and exhausted; fromtime to time her foot struck against the stones, giving her a painfulshock up to the very head. She hurried to bury herself in her home, forfear of falling and having to be carried there. 

CHAPTER VI--A CHARITABLE ASSUMPTION

"Old Yvonne's tipsy!" was the cry. 

She had fallen, and the street children ran after her. It was just atthe boundary of the parish of Ploubazlanec, where many houses stragglealong the roadside. But she had the strength to rise and hobble along onher stick. 

"Old Yvonne's tipsy!"

The bold little creatures stared her full in the face, laughing. Her_coiffe_ was all awry. Some of these little ones were not really wicked, and these, when they scanned her closer and saw the senile grimace ofbitter despair, turned aside, surprised and saddened, daring to saynothing more. 

At home, with the door tightly closed, she gave vent to the deep screamof despair that choked her, and fell down in a corner, her head againstthe wall. Her cap had fallen over her eyes; she threw off roughly whatformerly had been so well taken care of. Her Sunday dress was soiled, and a thin mesh of yellowish white hair strayed from beneath her cap, completing her pitiful, poverty-stricken disorder. 

CHAPTER VII--THE COMFORTER

Thus did Gaud, coming in for news in the evening, find her; her hairdishevelled, her arms hanging down, and her head resting against thestone wall, with a falling jaw grinning, and the plaintive whimper ofa little child; she scarcely could weep any more; these grandmothers, grown too old, have no tears left in their dried-up eyes. 

"My grandson is dead!" She threw the letters, papers, and medal into hercaller's lap. 

Gaud quickly scanned the whole, saw the news was true, and fell onher knees to pray. The two women remained there together almost dumb, through the June gloaming, which in Brittany is long but in Iceland isnever-ending. On the hearth the cricket that brings joy was chirping hisshrill music. 

The dim dusk entered through the narrow window into the dwelling ofthose Moans, who had all been devoured by the sea, and whose family wasnow extinguished. 

At last Gaud said: "_I'll_ come to you, good granny, to live with you;I'll bring my bed that they've left me, and I'll take care of you andnurse you--you shan't be all alone. "

She wept, too, for her little friend Sylvestre, but in her sorrow shewas led involuntarily to think of another--he who had gone back to thedeep-sea fishery. 

They would have to write to Yann and tell him Sylvestre was dead; it wasjust now that the fishers were starting. Would he, too, weep for him?Mayhap he would, for he had loved him dearly. In the midst of her owntears, Gaud thought a great deal of him; now and again waxing wrothagainst the hard-hearted fellow, and then pitying him at the thoughtof that pain which would strike him also, and which would be as a linkbetween them both--one way and another, her heart was full of him. 

CHAPTER VIII--THE BROTHER'S GRIEF

One pale August evening, the letter that announced Yann's brother'sdeath, at length arrived on board the _Marie_, upon the Iceland seas;it was after a day of hard work and excessive fatigue, just as they weregoing down to sup and to rest. With eyes heavy with sleep, he read it intheir dark nook below deck, lit by the yellow beam of the small lamp; atthe first moment he became stunned and giddy, like one dazed out offair understanding. Very proud and reticent in all things concerning thefeelings was Yann, and he hid the letter in his blue jersey, next hisbreast, without saying anything, as sailors do. But he did not feel thecourage to sit down with the others to supper, and disdaining even toexplain why, he threw himself into his berth and fell asleep. Soon hedreamed of Sylvestre dead, and of his funeral going by. 

Towards midnight, being in that state of mind that is peculiar to seamanwho are conscious of the time of day in their slumber, and quiteclearly see the hour draw night when to awaken for the watch--he saw thefuneral, and said to himself: "I am dreaming; luckily the mate will comeand wake me up, and the vision will pass away. "

But when a heavy hand was laid upon him and a voice cried out: "Tumbleout, Gaos! watch, boy!" he heard the slight rustling of paper at hisbreast, a fine ghastly music that affirmed the fact of the death. Yes, the letter! It was true, then? The more cruel, heartrending impressiondeepened, and he jumped up so quickly in his sudden start, that hestruck his forehead against the overhead beam. He dressed and opened thehatchway to go up mechanically and take his place in the fishing. 

CHAPTER IX--WORK CURES SORROW

When Yann was on deck, he looked around him with sleep-laden eyes, overthe familiar circle of the sea. That night the illimitable immensityshowed itself in its most astonishingly simple aspects, in neutraltints, giving only the impression of depth. This horizon, whichindicated no recognisable region of the earth, or even any geologicalage, must have looked so many times the same since the origin of time, that, gazing upon it, one saw nothing save the eternity of things thatexist and cannot help existing. 

It was not the dead of night, for a patch of light, which seemed to oozefrom no particular point, dimly lit up the scene. The wind sobbed asusual its aimless wail. All was gray, a fickle gray, which faded beforethe fixed gaze. The sea, during its mysterious rest, hid itself underfeeble tints without a name. 

Above floated scattered clouds; they had assumed various shapes, for, without form, things cannot exist; in the darkness they had blendedtogether, so as to form one single vast veiling. 

But in one particular spot of the sky, low down on the waters, theyseemed a dark-veined marble, the streaks clearly defined although verydistant; a tender drawing, as if traced by some dreamy hand--some chanceeffect, not meant to be viewed for long, and indeed hastening to dieaway. Even that alone, in the midst of this broad grandeur, appeared tomean something; one might think that the sad, undefined thought ofthe nothingness around was written there; and the sight involuntarilyremained fixed upon it. 

Yann's dazzled eyes grew accustomed to the outside darkness, and gazedmore and more steadily upon that veining in the sky; it had now takenthe shape of a kneeling figure with arms outstretched. He began to lookupon it as a human shadow rendered gigantic by the distance itself. 

In his mind, where his indefinite dreams and primitive beliefs stilllingered, the ominous shadow, crushed beneath the gloomy sky, slowlycoalesced with the thought of his dead brother, as if it were a lasttoken from him. 

He was used to such strange associations of ideas, that thrive inthe minds of children. But words, vague as they may be, are stilltoo precise to express those feelings; one would need that uncertainlanguage that comes in dreams, of which upon awakening, one retainsmerely enigmatical, senseless fragments. 

Looking upon the cloud, he felt a deep anguish, full of unknown mystery, that froze his very soul; he understood full well now that his poorlittle brother would never more be seen; sorrow, which had been sometime penetrating the hard, rough rind of his heart, now gushed in andbrimmed it over. He beheld Sylvestre again with his soft childish eyes;at the thought of embracing him no more, a veil fell between his eyelidsand his eyes, against his will; and, at first, he could not rightlyunderstand what it was--never having wept in all his manhood. But thetears began to fall heavily and swiftly down his cheeks, and then sobsrent his deep chest. 

He went on with his fishing, losing no time and speaking to no one, andhis two mates, though hearing him in the deep silence, pretended notto do so, for fear of irritating him, knowing him to be so haughty andreserved. 

In his opinion death was the end of it all. Out of respect he oftenjoined in the family prayers for the dead, but he believed in noafter-life of the soul. Between themselves, in their long talks, thesailors all said the same, in a blunt taken-for-granted way, as awell-known fact; but it did not stop them from believing in ghosts, having a vague fear of graveyards, and an unlimited confidence inprotecting saints and images, and above all a deep respect for theconsecrated earth around the churches. 

So Yann himself feared to be swallowed up by the sea, as if it wouldannihilate him, and the thought of Sylvestre, so far away on the otherside of the earth, made his sorrow more dark and desperate. With hiscontempt for his fellows, he had no shame or constraint in weeping, nomore than if he were alone. 

Around the boat the chaos grew whiter, although it was only two o'clock, and at the same time it appeared to spread farther, hollowing in afearful manner. With that kind of rising dawn, eyes opened wider, andthe awakened mind could conceive better the immensity of distance, asthe boundaries of visible space receded and widened away. 

The pale aurora increased, seeming to come in tiny jets with slightshocks; eternal things seemed to light up by sheer transparency, as ifwhite-flamed lamps had slowly been raised up behind the shapeless grayclouds, and held there with mysterious care, for fear of disturbing thecalm, even rest of the sea. Below the horizon that colossal white lampwas the sun, which dragged itself along without strength, before takingits leisurely ascent, which began in the dawn's eye above the ocean. 

On this day, the usual rosy tints were not seen; all remained pale andmournful. On board the gray ship, Yann wept alone. The tears of thefierce elder brother, together with the melancholy of this surroundingwaste, were as mourning, worn in honour of the poor, obscure, younghero, upon these seas of Iceland, where half his life had been passed. 

When the full light of day appeared, Yann abruptly wiped his eyeswith his sleeve and ceased weeping. That grief was over now. He seemedcompletely absorbed by the work of the fishery, and by the monotonousroutine of substantial deeds, as if he never had thought of anythingelse. 

The catching went on apace, and there were scant hands for the work. Around about the fishers, in the immense depths, a transformation scenewas taking place. The grand opening out of the infinitude, that greatwonder of the morning, had finished, and the distance seemed to diminishand close in around them. How was it that before the sea had seemed soboundless!

The horizon was quite clear now, and more space seemed necessary. Thevoid filled in with flecks and streamers that floated above, some vagueas mist, others with visibly jagged edges. They fell softly amid anutter silence, like snowy gauze, but fell on all sides together, so thatbelow them suffocation set in swiftly; it took away the breath to seethe air so thickened. 

It was the first of the August fogs that was rising. In a few momentsthe winding-sheet became universally dense; all around the _Marie_a white damp lay under the light, and in it the mast faded anddisappeared. 

"Here's the cursed fog now, for sure, " grumbled the men. They had longago made the acquaintance of that compulsory companion of the secondpart of the fishing season; but it also announced its end and the timefor returning to Brittany. 

It condensed into fine, sparkling drops in their beards, and shone upontheir weather-beaten faces. Looking athwart ship to one another, theyappeared dim as ghosts; and by comparison, nearer objects were seen moreclearly under the colourless light. They took care not to inhale the airtoo deeply, for a feeling of chill and wet penetrated the lungs. 

But the fishing was going on briskly, so that they had no time left tochatter, and they only thought of their lines. Every moment big heavyfish were drawn in on deck, and slapped down with a smack like awhip-crack; there they wriggled about angrily, flapping their tails onthe deck, scattering plenty of sea-water about, and silvery scales too, in the course of their death-struggle. The sailor who split them openwith his long knife, sometimes cut his own fingers, in his haste, sothat his warm blood mingled with the brine. 

CHAPTER X--THE WHITE FOG

Caught in the fog, they remained ten days in succession without beingable to see anything. The fishing went on handsomely the while, and withso much to do there was no time for weariness. At regular intervals oneof them blew a long fog-horn, whence issued a sound like the howling ofa wild beast. 

Sometimes, out of the depths of white fog, another bellowing answeredtheir call. Then a sharper watch was kept. If the blasts wereapproaching, all ears were turned in the direction of that unknownneighbour, whom they might perhaps never see, but whose presence wasnevertheless a danger. Conjectures were made about the strange vessel;it became a subject of conversation, a sort of company for them; alllonging to see her, strained their eyes in vain efforts to pierce thoseimpalpable white shrouds. 

Then the mysterious consort would depart, the bellowing of her trumpetfading away in the distance, and they would remain again in the deephush, amid the infinity of stagnant vapour. Everything was drenchedwith salt water; the cold became more penetrating; each day the sun tooklonger to sink below the horizon; there were now real nights one or twohours long, and their gray gloaming was chilly and weird. 

Every morning they heaved the lead, through fear that the _Marie_ mighthave run too near the Icelandic coast. But all the lines on board, fastened end to end, were paid out in vain--the bottom could not betouched. So they knew that they were well out in blue water. 

Life on board was rough and wholesome; the comfort in the snug strongoaken cabin below was enhanced by the impression of the piercing coldoutside, when they went down to supper or for rest. 

In the daytime, these men, who were as secluded as monks, spoke butlittle among themselves. Each held his line, remaining for hours andhours in the same immovable position. They were separated by some threeyards of space, but it ended in not even seeing one another. 

The calm of the fog dulled the mind. Fishing so lonely, they hummedhome songs, so as not to scare the fish away. Ideas came more slowlyand seldom; they seemed to expand, filling in the space of time, withoutleaving any vacuum. They dreamed of incoherent and mysterious things, asif in slumber, and the woof of their dreams was as airy as fog itself. 

This misty month of August usually terminated the Iceland season, ina quiet, mournful way. Otherwise the full physical life was the same, filling the sailors' lungs with rustling air and hardening their alreadystrong muscles. 

Yann's usual manner had returned, as if his great grief had notcontinued; watchful and active, quick at his fishing work, ahappy-go-lucky temper, like one who had no troubles; communicative attimes, but very rarely--and always carrying his head up high, with hisold indifferent, domineering look. 

At supper in the rough retreat, when they were all seated at table, withtheir knives busy on their hot plates, he occasionally laughed out as heused to do at droll remarks of his mates. In his inner self he perhapsthought of Gaud, to whom, doubtless, Sylvestre had plighted him in hislast hours; and she had become a poor girl now, alone in the world. Andabove all, perhaps, the mourning for his beloved brother still preyedupon his heart. But this heart of his was a virgin wilderness, difficultto explore and little known, where many things took place unrevealed onthe exterior. 

CHAPTER XI--THE SPECTRE SHIP

One morning, going on three o'clock, while all were dreaming quietlyunder their winding-sheet of fog, they heard something like a clamour ofvoices--voices whose tones seemed strange and unfamiliar. Those on decklooked at each other questioningly. 

"Who's that talking?"

Nobody. Nobody had said anything. For that matter, the sounds hadseemed to come from the outer void. Then the man who had charge of thefog-horn, but had been neglecting his duty since overnight, rushed forit, and inflating his lungs to their utmost, sounded with all his mightthe long bellow of alarm. It was enough to make a man of iron start, insuch a silence. 

As if a spectre had been evoked by that thrilling, though deep-tonedroar, a huge unforeseen gray form suddenly arose very loftily andtowered threateningly right beside them; masts, spars, rigging, alllike a ship that had taken sudden shape in the air instantly, just as asingle beam of electric light evokes phantasmagoria on the screen of amagic lantern. 

Men appeared, almost close enough to touch them, leaning over thebulwarks, staring at them with eyes distended in the awakening ofsurprise and dread. 

The _Marie's_ men rushed for oars, spars, boat-hooks, anything theycould lay their hands on for fenders, and held them out to shoveoff that grisly thing and its impending visitors. Lo! these others, terrified also, put out large beams to repel them likewise. 

But there came only a very faint creaking in the topmasts, as bothstanding gears momentarily entangled became disentangled without theleast damage; the shock, very gentle in such a calm had been almostwholly deadened; indeed, it was so feeble that it really seemed as ifthe other ship had no substance, that it was a mere pulp, almost withoutweight. 

When the fright was over, the men began to laugh; they had recognisedeach other. 

"_La Marie_, ahoy! how are ye, lads?"

"Halloa! Gaos, Laumec, Guermeur!"

The spectre ship was the _Reine-Berthe_, also of Paimpol, and so thesailors were from neighbouring villages; that thick, tall fellow withthe huge, black beard, showing his teeth when he laughed, was Kerjegou, one of the Ploudaniel boys, the others were from Plounes or Plounerin. 

"Why didn't you blow your fog-horn, and be blowed to you, you herd ofsavages?" challenged Larvoer of the _Reine-Berthe_. 

"If it comes to that, why didn't you blow yours, you crew ofpirates--you rank mess of toad-fish?"

"Oh, no! with us, d'ye see, the sea-law differs. _We're forbidden tomake any noise!_"

He made this reply with the air of giving a dark hint, and a queersmile, which afterward came back to the memory of the men of the_Marie_, and caused them a great deal of thinking. Then, as if hethought he had said too much, he concluded with a joke:

"Our fog-horn, d'ye see, was burst by this rogue here a-blowing too hardinto it. " He pointed to a sailor with a face like a Triton, a man allbull-neck and chest, extravagantly broad-shouldered, low-set uponhis legs, with something unspeakably grotesque and unpleasant in thedeformity of strength. 

While they were looking at each other, waiting for breeze orundercurrent to move one vessel faster than the other and separate them, a general palaver began. Leaning over the side, but holding eachother off at a respectable distance with their long wooden props, likebesieged pikemen repelling an assault, they began to chat about home, the last letters received, and sweethearts and wives. 

"I say! my old woman, " said Kerjegou, "tells me she's had the little boywe were looking for; that makes half-score-two now!"

Another had found himself the father of twins; and a third announcedthe marriage of pretty Jenny Caroff, a girl well known to all theIcelanders, with some rich and infirm old resident of the Commune ofPlourivo. As they were eyeing each other as if through white gauze, thisalso appeared to alter the sound of the voices, which came as if muffledand from far away. 

Meanwhile Yann could not take his eyes off one of those brotherfishermen, a little grizzled fellow, whom he was quite sure he never hadseen before, but who had, nevertheless, straightway said to him, "Howd'o, long Yann?" with all the familiarity of bosom acquaintance. He worethe provoking ugliness of a monkey, with an apish twinkling of mischieftoo in his piercing eyes. 

"As for me, " said Larvoer, of the _Reine-Berthe_, "I've been told ofthe death of the grandson of old Yvonne Moan, of Ploubazlanec--who wasserving his time in the navy, you know, in the Chinese squadron--a verygreat pity. "

On hearing this, all the men of _La Marie_ turned towards Yann to learnif he already knew anything of the sad news. 

"Ay, " he answered in a low voice, but with an indifferent and haughtyair, "it was told me in the last letter my father sent me. " They stillkept on looking at him, curious at finding out the secret of his grief, and it made him angry. 

These questions and answers were rapidly exchanged through the pallidmists, so the moments of this peculiar colloquy skipped swiftly by. 

"My wife wrote me at the same time, " continued Larvoer, "that MonsieurMevel's daughter has left the town to live at Ploubazlanec and take careof her old grand-aunt--Granny Moan. She goes out to needlework by theday now--to earn her living. Anyhow, I always thought, I did, thatshe was a good, brave girl, in spite of her fine-lady airs and herfurbelows. "

Then again they all stared at Yann, which made him still more angry; ared flush mounted to his cheeks, under their tawny tan. 

With Larvoer's expression of opinion about Gaud ended this parley withthe crew of the _Reine-Berthe_, none of whom were ever again to be seenby human eyes. For a moment their faces became more dim, their vesselbeing already farther away; and then, all at once, the men of the_Marie_ found they had nothing to push against, nothing at the end oftheir poles--all spars, oars, odds and ends of deck-lumber, were gropingand quivering in emptiness, till they fell heavily, one after the other, down into the sea, like their own arms, lopped off and inert. 

They pulled all the useless defences on board. The _Reine-Berthe_, melting away into the thick fog, had disappeared as suddenly as apainted ship in a dissolving view. They tried to hail her, but the onlyresponse was a sort of mocking clamour--as of many voices--ending in amoan, that made them all stare at each other in surprise. 

This _Reine-Berthe_ did not come back with the other Icelandic fishers;and as the men of the _Samuel-Azenide_ afterward picked up in some fjordan unmistakable waif (part of her taffrail with a bit of her keel), allceased to hope; in the month of October the names of all her crew wereinscribed upon black slabs in the church. 

From the very time of that apparition--the date of which was wellremembered by the men of the _Marie_--until the time of their return, there had been no really dangerous weather on the Icelandic seas, but agreat storm from the west had, three weeks before, swept several sailorsoverboard, and swallowed up two vessels. The men remembered Larvoer'speculiar smile, and putting things together many strange conjectureswere made. In the dead of night, Yann, more than once, dreamed that heagain saw the sailor who blinked like an ape, and some of the men ofthe _Marie_ wondered if, on that remembered morning, they had not beentalking with ghosts. 

CHAPTER XII--THE STRANGE COUPLE

Summer advanced, and, at the end of August, with the first autumnalmists, the Icelanders came home. 

For the last three months the two lone women had lived together atPloubazlanec in the Moan's cottage. Gaud filled a daughter's place inthe poor birthplace of so many dead sailors. She had sent hither allthat remained from the sale of her father's house; her grand bed in thetown fashion, and her fine, different coloured dresses. She had madeherself a plainer black dress, and like old Yvonne, wore a mourning cap, of thick white muslin, adorned merely with simple plaits. Every dayshe went out sewing at the houses of the rich people in the town, andreturned every evening without being detained on her way home by anysweetheart. She had remained as proud as ever, and was still respectedas a fine lady; and as the lads bade her good-night, they always raiseda hand to their caps. 

Through the sweet evening twilight, she walked home from Paimpol, allalong the cliff road inhaling the fresh, comforting sea air. Constantsitting at needlework had not deformed her like many others, who arealways bent in two over their work--and she drew up her beautiful suppleform perfectly erect in looking over the sea, fairly across to whereYann was it seemed. 

The same road led to his home. Had she walked on much farther, towardsa well-known rocky windswept nook, she would come to that hamlet ofPors-Even, where the trees, covered with gray moss, grew crampedlybetween the stones, and are slanted over lowly by the western gales. Perhaps she might never more return there, although it was only a leagueaway; but once in her lifetime she had been there, and that was enoughto cast a charm over the whole road; and, besides, Yann would certainlyoften pass that way, and she could fancy seeing him upon the bare moor, stepping between the stumpy reeds. 

She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec, and was almost happy thatfate had driven her there; she never could have become resigned to livein any other place. 

Towards this end of August, a southern warmth, diffusing languor, risesand spreads towards the north, with luminous afterglows and stray raysfrom a distant sun, which float over the Breton seas. Often the air iscalm and pellucid, without a single cloud on high. 

At the hour of Gaud's return journey, all things had already begun tofade in the nightfall, and become fused into close, compact groups. Hereand there a clump of reeds strove to make way between stones, like abattle-torn flag; in a hollow, a cluster of gnarled trees formed adark mass, or else some straw-thatched hamlet indented the moor. Atthe cross-roads the images of Christ on the cross, which watch over andprotect the country, stretched out their black arms on their supportslike real men in torture; in the distance the Channel appeared fairand calm, one vast golden mirror, under the already darkened sky andshade-laden horizon. 

In this country even the calm fine weather was a melancholy thing;notwithstanding, a vague uneasiness seemed to hover about; a palpabledread emanating from the sea to which so many lives are intrusted, andwhose everlasting threat only slumbered. 

Gaud sauntered along as in a dream, and never found the way long enough. The briny smell of the shore, and a sweet odour of flowerets growingalong the cliffs amid thorny bushes, perfumed the air. Had it not beenfor Granny Yvonne waiting for her at home, she would have loitered alongthe reed-strewn paths, like the beautiful ladies in stories, who dreamaway the summer evenings in their fine parks. 

Many thoughts of her early childhood came back to her as she passedthrough the country; but they seemed so effaced and far away now, eclipsed by her love looming up between. 

In spite of all, she went on thinking of Yann as engaged in a degree--arestless, scornful betrothed, whom she never would really have, but towhom she persisted in being faithful in mind, without speaking about itto any one. For the time, she was happy to know that he was offIceland; for there, at least, the sea would keep him lonely in her deepcloisters, and he would belong to no other woman. 

True, he would return one of these days, but she looked upon that returnmore calmly than before. She instinctively understood that her povertywould not be a reason for him to despise her; for he was not as othermen. Moreover, the death of poor Sylvestre would draw them closertogether. Upon his return, he could not do otherwise than come to seehis friend's old granny; and Gaud had decided to be present at thatvisit; for it did not seem to her that it would be undignified. Appearing to remember nothing, she would talk to him as to a long-knownfriend; she would even speak with affection, as was due to Sylvestre'sbrother, and try to seem easy and natural. And who knows? Perhaps itwould not be impossible to be as a sister to him, now that she was solonely in the world; to rely upon his friendship, even to ask it as asupport, with enough preliminary explanation for him not to accuse herof any after-thought of marriage. 

She judged him to be untamed and stubborn in his independent ideas, yettender and loyal, and capable of understanding the goodness that comesstraight from the heart. 

How would he feel when he met her again, in her poor ruined home? Very, very poor she was--for Granny Moan was not strong enough now to go outwashing, and only had her small widow's pension left; granted, she atebut little, and the two could still manage to live, not dependent uponothers. 

Night was always fallen when she arrived home; before she could entershe had to go down a little over the worn rocks, for the cottagewas placed on an incline towards the beach, below the level of thePloubazlanec roadside. It was almost hidden under its thick brown strawthatch, and looked like the back of some huge beast, shrunk down underits bristling fur. Its walls were sombre and rough like the rocks, butwith tiny tufts of green moss and lichens over them. There were threeuneven steps before the threshold, and the inside latch was opened by alength of rope-yarn run through a hole. Upon entering, the first thingto be seen was the window, hollowed out through the wall as in thesubstance of a rampart, and giving view of the sea, whence infloweda dying yellow light. On the hearth burned brightly the sweet-scentedbranches of pine and beechwood that old Yvonne used to pick up along theway, and she herself was sitting there, seeing to their bit of supper;indoors she wore a kerchief over her head to save her cap. Her stillbeautiful profile was outlined in the red flame of her fire. She lookedup at Gaud. Her eyes, which formerly were brown, had taken a fadedlook, and almost appeared blue; they seemed no longer to see, and weretroubled and uncertain with old age. Each day she greeted Gaud with thesame words:

"Oh, dear me! my good lass, how late you are to-night!"

"No, Granny, " answered Gaud, who was used to it. "This is the same timeas other days. "

"Eh? It seemed to me, dear, later than usual. "

They sat down to supper at their table, which had almost becomeshapeless from constant use, but was still as thick as the generousslice of a huge oak. The cricket began its silver-toned music again. 

One of the sides of the cottage was filled up by roughly sculptured, worm-eaten woodwork, which had an opening wherein were set the sleepingbunks, where generations of fishers had been born, and where their agedmothers had died. 

Quaint old kitchen utensils hung from the black beams, as well asbunches of sweet herbs, wooden spoons, and smoked bacon; fishing-nets, which had been left there since the shipwreck of the last Moans, theirmeshes nightly bitten by the rats. 

Gaud's bed stood in an angle under its white muslin draperies; it seemedlike a very fresh and elegant modern invention brought into the hut of aCelt. 

On the granite wall hung a photograph of Sylvestre in his sailorclothes. His grandmother had fixed his military medal to it, with hisown pair of those red cloth anchors that French men-of-wars-men wear ontheir right sleeve; Gaud had also brought one of those funereal crowns, of black and white beads, placed round the portraits of the dead inBrittany. This represented Sylvestre's mausoleum, and was all thatremained to consecrate his memory in his own land. 

On summer evenings they did not sit up late, to save the lights; whenthe weather was fine, they sat out a while on a stone bench before thedoor, and looked at passers-by in the road, a little over their heads. Then old Yvonne would lie down on her cupboard shelf; and Gaud on herfine bed, would fall asleep pretty soon, being tired out with her day'swork, and walking, and dreaming of the return of the Icelanders. Like awise, resolute girl, she was not too greatly apprehensive. 

CHAPTER XIII--RENEWED DISAPPOINTMENT

But one day in Paimpol, hearing that _La Marie_ had just got in, Gaud felt possessed with a kind of fever. All her quiet composuredisappeared; she abruptly finished up her work, without quite knowingwhy, and set off home sooner than usual. 

Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recognised _him_, at some distanceoff, coming towards her. She trembled and felt her strength giving way. He was now quite close, only about twenty steps off, his head erect andhis hair curling out from beneath his fisher's cap. She was so taken bysurprise at this meeting, that she was afraid she might fall, and thenhe would understand all; she would die of very shame at it. She thought, too, she was not looking well, but wearied by the hurried work. Shewould have done anything to be hidden away under the reeds or in one ofthe ferret-holes. 

He also had taken a backward step, as if to turn in another direction. But it was too late now. Both met in the narrow path. Not to touch her, he drew up against the bank, with a side swerve like a skittish horse, looking at her in a wild, stealthy way. 

She, too, for one half second looked up, and in spite of herself mutelyimplored him, with an agonized prayer. In that involuntary meeting oftheir eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, these gray pupils of hers hadappeared to dilate and light up with some grand noble thought, whichflashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood rushed crimson even toher temples beneath her golden tresses. 

As he touched his cap he faltered. "Wish you good-day, MademoiselleGaud. "

"Good-day, Monsieur Yann, " she answered. 

That was all. He passed on. She went on her way, still quivering, butfeeling, as he disappeared, that her blood was slowly circulating againand her strength returning. 

At home, she found Granny Moan crouching in a corner with her headheld between her hands, sobbing with her childish "he, he!" her hairdishevelled and falling from beneath her cap like thin skeins of grayhemp. 

"Oh, my kind Gaud! I've just met young Gaos down by Plouherzel as I cameback from my wood-gathering; we spoke of our poor lad, of course. Theyarrived this morning from Iceland, and in the afternoon he came over tosee me while I was out. Poor lad, he had tears in his eyes, too. He cameright up to my door, my kind Gaud, to carry my little fagot. "

She listened, standing, while her heart seemed almost to break; so thisvisit of Yann's, upon which she had so much relied for saying so manythings, was already over, and would doubtless not occur again. Itwas all done. Her poor heart seemed more lonely than ever. Her miseryharder, and the world more empty; and she hung her head with a wilddesire to die. 

CHAPTER XIV--THE GRANDAM BREAKING UP

Slowly the winter drew nigh, and spread over all like a shroud leisurelydrawn. Gray days followed one another, but Yann appeared no more, andthe two women lived on in their loneliness. With the cold, their dailyexistence became harder and more expensive. 

Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too; her poor mind was going. She gotinto fits of temper now, and spoke wicked, insulting speeches once ortwice every week; it took her so, like a child, about mere nothings. 

Poor old granny! She was still so sweet in her lucid days, that Gaud didnot cease to respect and cherish her. To have always been so good andto end by being bad, and show towards the close a depth of malice andspitefulness that had slumbered during her whole life, to use a wholevocabulary of coarse words that she had hidden; what mockery of thesoul! what a derisive mystery! She began to sing, too, which was stillmore painful to hear than her angry words, for she mixed everything uptogether--the _oremus_ of a mass with refrains of loose songs heard inthe harbour from wandering sailors. Sometimes she sang "_Les Fillettesde Paimpol_" (The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding her head and beatingtime with her foot, she would mutter:

"Mon mari vient de partir; Pour la peche d'Islande, mon mari vient departir, Il m'a laissee sans le sou, Mais--trala, trala la lou, J'engagne, j'en gagne. "

(My husband went off sailing Upon the Iceland cruise, But never left memoney, Not e'en a couple sous. But--ri too loo! ri tooral loo! I knowwhat to do!)

She always stopped short, while her eyes opened wide with a lifelessexpression, like those dying flames that suddenly flash out beforefading away. She hung her head and remained speechless for a greatlength of time, her lower jaw dropping as in the dead. 

One day she could remember nothing of her grandson. "Sylvestre?Sylvestre?" repeated she, wondering whom Gaud meant; "oh! my dear, d'yesee, I've so many of them, that now I can't remember their names!"

So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled hands, with a careless, almostcontemptuous toss. But the next day she remembered him quite well;mentioning several things he had said or done, and that whole day longshe wept. 

Oh! those long winter evenings when there was not enough wood for theirfire; to work in the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewing hard tofinish the clothes brought over from Paimpol. 

Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, remained quiet enough, her feetstuck in among the smouldering embers, and her hands clasped beneath herapron. But at the beginning of the evening, Gaud always had to talk toher to cheer her a little. 

"Why don't ye speak to me, my good girl? In my time I've known manygirls who had plenty to say for themselves. I don't think it 'ud seem solonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit. "

So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had heard in town, or spoke of thepeople she had met on her way home, talking of things that were quiteindifferent to her, as indeed all things were now; and stopping in themidst of her stories when she saw the poor old woman was falling asleep. 

There seemed nothing lively or youthful around her, whose fresh youthyearned for youth. Her beauty would fade away, lonely and barren. Thewind from the sea came in from all sides, blowing her lamp about, and the roar of the waves could be heard as in a ship. Listening, theever-present sad memory of Yann came to her, the man whose dominionwas these battling elements; through the long terrible nights, when allthings were unbridled and howling in the outer darkness, she thought ofhim with agony. 

Always alone as she was, with the sleeping old granny, she sometimesgrew frightened and looked in all dark corners, thinking of the sailors, her ancestors, who had lived in these nooks, but perished in the sea onsuch nights as these. Their spirits might possibly return; and she didnot feel assured against the visit of the dead by the presence of thepoor old woman, who was almost as one of them herself. 

Suddenly she shivered from head to foot, as she heard a thin, crackedvoice, as if stifled under the earth, proceed from the chimney corner. 

In a chirping tone, which chilled her very soul, the voice sang:

"Pour la peche d'Islande, mon mari vient de partir, Il m'a laissee sansle sou, Mais--trala, trala la lou!"

Then she was seized with that peculiar terror that one has of madpeople. 

The rain fell with an unceasing, fountain-like gush, and streamed downthe walls outside. There were oozings of water from the old moss-grownroof, which continued dropping on the self-same spots with a monotonoussad splash. They even soaked through into the floor inside, which was ofhardened earth studded with pebbles and shells. 

Dampness was felt on all sides, wrapping them up in its chill masses; anuneven, buffeting dampness, misty and dark, and seeming to isolate thescattered huts of Ploubazlanec still more. 

But the Sunday evenings were the saddest of all, because of the relativegaiety in other homes on that day, for there are joyful evenings evenamong those forgotten hamlets of the coast; here and there, from someclosed-up hut, beaten about by the inky rains, ponderous songs issued. Within, tables were spread for drinkers; sailors sat before the smokingfire, the old ones drinking brandy and the young ones flirting with thegirls; all more or less intoxicated and singing to deaden thought. Closeto them, the great sea, their tomb on the morrow, sang also, filling thevacant night with its immense profound voice. 

On some Sundays, parties of young fellows who came out of the tavernsor back from Paimpol, passed along the road, near the door of the Moans;they were such as lived at the land's end of Pors-Even way. They passedvery late, caring little for the cold and wet, accustomed as they wereto frost and tempests. Gaud lent her ear to the medley of theirsongs and shouts--soon lost in the uproar of the squalls or thebreakers--trying to distinguish Yann's voice, and then feeling strangelyperplexed if she thought she had heard it. 

It really was too unkind of Yann not to have returned to see them again, and to lead so gay a life so soon after the death of Sylvestre; allthis was unlike him. No, she really could not understand him now, butin spite of all she could not forget him or believe him to be withoutheart. 

The fact was that since his return he had been leading a most dissipatedlife indeed. Three or four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she had seenhim coming towards her, but she was always quick enough to shun him; andhe, too, in those cases, took the opposite direction over the heath. Asif by mutual understanding, now, they fled from each other. 

CHAPTER XV--THE NEW SHIP

At Paimpol lives a large, stout woman named Madame Tressoleur. In one ofthe streets that lead to the harbour she keeps a tavern, well known toall the Icelanders, where captains and ship-owners come to engagetheir sailors, and choose the strongest among them, men and masters alldrinking together. 

At one time she had been beautiful, and was still jolly with thefishers; she has a mustache, is as broad built as a Dutchman, and asbold and ready of speech as a Levantine. There is a look of the daughterof the regiment about her, notwithstanding her ample nun-like muslinheadgear; for all that, a religious halo of its sort floats around her, for the simple reason that she is a Breton born. 

The names of all the sailors of the country are written in her head asin a register; she knows them all, good or bad, and knows exactly, too, what they earn and what they are worth. 

One January day, Gaud, who had been called in to make a dress, sat downto work in a room behind the tap-room. 

To go into the abode of our Madame Tressoleur, you enter by a broad, massive-pillared door, which recedes in the olden style under the firstfloor. When you go to open this door, there is always some obliging gustof wind from the street that pushes it in, and the new-comers make anabrupt entrance, as if carried in by a beach roller. The hall is adornedby gilt frames, containing pictures of ships and wrecks. In an anglea china statuette of the Virgin is placed on a bracket, between twobunches of artificial flowers. 

These olden walls must have listened to many powerful songs of sailors, and witnessed many wild gay scenes, since the first far-off days ofPaimpol--all through the lively times of the privateers, up to these ofthe present Icelanders, so very little different from their ancestors. Many lives of men have been angled for and hooked there, on the oakentables, between two drunken bouts. 

While she was sewing the dress, Gaud lent her ear to the conversationgoing on about Iceland, behind the partition, between Madame Tressoleurand two old sailors, drinking. They were discussing a new craft thatwas being rigged in the harbour. She never would be ready for the nextseason, so they said of this _Leopoldine_. 

"Oh, yes, to be sure she will!" answered the hostess. "I tell 'ee thecrew was all made up yesterday--the whole of 'em out of the old _Marie_of Guermeur's, that's to be sold for breaking up; five young fellowssigned their engagement here before me, at this here table, and with myown pen--so ye see, I'm right! And fine fellows, too, I can tell 'ee;Laumec, Tugdual Caroff, Yvon Duff, young Keraez from Treguier, and longYann Gaos from Pors-Even, who's worth any three on 'em!"

The _Leopoldine_! The half-heard name of the ship that was to carry Yannaway became suddenly fixed in her brain, as if it had been hammered into remain more ineffaceably there. 

At night back again at Ploubazlanec, and finishing off her work by thelight of her pitiful lamp, that name came back to her mind, and its verysound impressed her as a sad thing. The names of vessels, as of things, have a significance in themselves--almost a particular meaning of theirown. The new and unusual word haunted her with an unnatural persistency, like some ghastly and clinging warning. She had expected to see Yannstart off again on the _Marie_, which she knew so well and had formerlyvisited, and whose Virgin had so long protected its dangerous voyages;and the change to the _Leopoldine_ increased her anguish. 

But she told herself that that was not her concern, and nothing abouthim ought ever to affect her. After all, what could it matter to herwhether he were here or there, on this ship or another, ashore or not?Would she feel less miserable with him back in Iceland, when the summerwould return over the deserted cottages, and lonely anxious women--orwhen a new autumn came again, bringing home the fishers once more? Allthat was alike indifferent to her, equally without joy or hope. Therewas no link between them now, nothing ever to bring them together, forwas he not forgetting even poor little Sylvestre? So, she had plainly tounderstand that this sole dream of her life was over for ever; she hadto forget Yann, and all things appertaining to his existence, even thevery name of Iceland, which still vibrated in her with so painful acharm--because of him all such thoughts must be swept away. All wasindeed over, for ever and ever. 

She tenderly looked over at the poor old woman asleep, who stillrequired all her attention, but who would soon die. Then, what would bethe good of living and working after that; of what use would she be?

Out of doors, the western wind had again risen; and, notwithstanding itsdeep distant soughing, the soft regular patter of the eaves-droppingscould be heard as they dripped from the roof. And so the tears of theforsaken one began to flow--tears running even to her lips to imparttheir briny taste, and dropping silently on her work, like summershowers brought by no breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy, from the over-laden clouds; as she could no longer see to work, andshe felt worked out and discouraged before this great hollowness of herlife, she folded up the extra-sized body of Madame Tressoleur and wentto bed. 

She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for, like all things in thecottage, it seemed also to be getting colder and damper. But as shewas very young, although she still continued weeping, it ended by hergrowing warm and falling asleep. 

CHAPTER XVI--LONE AND LORN

Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early February, fine, temperateweather. Yann had just come from his shipowner's where he had receivedhis wages for the last summer's fishery, fifteen hundred francs, which, according to the custom of the family, he carried to his mother. Thecatch had been a good one, and he returned well pleased. 

Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side of the road. An oldwoman was gesticulating with her stick, while the street boys mockedand laughed around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old granny whomSylvestre had so tenderly loved--her dress torn and bedraggled--hadnow become one of those poor old women, almost fallen back in secondchildhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their roads. The sighthurt him cruelly. 

The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily anddespairingly threatened them with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad hadonly been here! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you young rascals!"

It appeared that as she ran after them to beat them, she had fallendown; her cap was awry, and her dress covered with mud; they calledout that she was tipsy (as often happens to those poor old "grizzling"people in the country who have met misfortune). 

But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a veryrespectable old woman, who only drank water. 

"Aren't you ashamed?" roared he to the boys. 

He was very angry, and his voice and tone frightened them, so that inthe twinkling of an eye they all took flight, frightened and confusedbefore "Long Gaos. "

Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing home her work forthe evening, had seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny inthe group. She eagerly rushed forward to learn what the matter was, andwhat they had done to her; seeing the cat, she understood it all. She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who did not look aside; neitherthought of avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply andthey gazed rather startled at being so near one another; but withouthatred, almost with affection, united as they were in this commonimpulse of pity and protection. 

The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor dead grimalkin forsome time, because he had a black, satanic look; though he was reallya very good cat, and when one looked closely at him, he was soft andcaress-inviting of coat. They had stoned him to death, and one ofhis eyes hung out. The poor old woman went on grumbling, shaking withemotion, and carrying her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit. 

"Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor lad, if he were only here; forsure, they'd never dared a-do it. "

Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles; and her rough blue-veinedhands trembled. 

Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried to comfort her withsoothing words. Yann was quite indignant to think that little childrencould be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and herpet. Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart ached for the poorold dame as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so dearly, andthe terrible pain it would have been to him to see her thus, underderision and in misery. 

Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for her state. "She musthave fallen down, " she said in a low voice; "'tis true her dress isn'tnew, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann; but I mended it again onlyyesterday, and this morning when I left home I'm sure she was neat andtidy. "

He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched by that simple excusethan by clever phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side by side theywalked on to the Moans' cottage. He always had acknowledged her to belovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him that she was evenmore beautiful now in her poverty and mourning. She wore a graver look, and her gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and neverthelessseemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul. Her figure, too, wasthoroughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in the full bloom of herloveliness. She looked like a genuine fisher's daughter, too, in herplain black gown and cap; yet one could not precisely tell what gave herthat unmistakable token of the lady; it was involuntary and concealedwithin herself, and she could not be blamed for it; only perhaps herbodice was a trifle nicer fitting than the others, though from sheerinborn taste, and showed to advantage her rounded bust and perfect arms. But, no! the mystery was revealed in her quiet voice and look. 

CHAPTER XVII--THE ESPOUSAL

It was manifest that Yann meant to accompany them; perhaps all the wayhome. They walked on, all three together, as if following the cat'sfuneral procession; it was almost comical to watch them pass; and theold folks on the doorsteps grinned at the sight. Old Yvonne, in themiddle, carried the dead pet; Gaud walked on her right, trembling andblushing, and tall Yann on the left, grave and haughty. 

The aged woman had become quiet now; she had tidied her hair up herselfand walked silently, looking alternately at them both from the tail ofher eyes, which had become clear again. 

Gaud said nothing for fear of giving Yann the opportunity of taking hisleave; she would have liked to feel his kind, tender eyes eternally onher, and to walk along with her own closed so as to think of nothingelse; to wander along thus by his side in the dream she was weaving, instead of arriving so soon at their lonely, dark cottage, where allmust fade away. 

At the door occurred one of those moments of indecision when the heartseems to stop beating. The grandam went in without turning round, thenGaud, hesitating, and Yann, behind, entered, too. 

He was in their house for the first time in his life--probably withoutany reason. What could he want? As he passed over the threshold hetouched his hat, and then his eyes fell and dwelt upon Sylvestre'sportrait in its small black-beaded frame. He went slowly up to it, as toa tomb. 

Gaud remained standing with her hands resting on the table. He lookedaround him; she watched him take a silent inspection of their poverty. Very poor looked this cottage of the two forsaken women. At least hemight feel some pity for her, seeing her reduced to this misery insideits plain granite and whitewash. Only the fine white bed remained of allpast splendour, and involuntarily Yann's eyes rested there. 

He said nothing. Why did he not go? The old grandmother, although stillso sharp in her lucid intervals, appeared not to notice him. How odd! Sothey remained over against one another, seeming respectively to questionwith a yearning desire. But the moments were flitting, and each secondseemed to emphasize the silence between them. They gazed at oneanother more and more searchingly, as if in solemn expectation of somewonderful, exquisite event, which was too long in coming. 

"Gaud, " he began, in a low grave voice, "if you're still of a mindnow----"

What was he going to say? She felt instinctively that he had suddenlytaken a mighty resolution--rapidly as he always did, but hardly daredword it. 

"If you be still of a mind--d'ye see, the fish has sold well this year, and I've a little money ahead----"

"If she were still of a mind!" What was he asking of her? Had she heardaright? She felt almost crushed under the immensity of what she thoughtshe premised. 

All the while, old Yvonne, in her corner, pricked up her ears, feelinghappiness approach. 

"We could make a splice on it--a marriage, right off, Mademoiselle Gaud, if you are still of the same mind?"

He listened here for her answer, which did not come. What could stop herfrom pronouncing that "yes?" He looked astonished and frightened, shecould see that. Her hands clutched the table edge. She had turned quitewhite and her eyes were misty; she was voiceless, and looked like somemaid dying in her flower. 

"Well, Gaud, why don't you answer?" said Granny Yvonne, who had risenand come towards them. "Don't you see, it rather surprises her, MonsieurYann. You must excuse her. She'll think it over and answer you later on. Sit you down a bit, Monsieur Yann, and take a glass of cider with us. "

It was not the surprise, but ecstasy that prevented Gaud from answering;no words at all came to her relief. So it really was true that he wasgood and kind-hearted. She knew him aright--the same true Yann, her own, such as she never had ceased to see him, notwithstanding his sternnessand his rough refusal. For a long time he had disdained her, but now heaccepted her, although she was poor. No doubt it had been his wish allthrough; he may have had a motive for so acting, which she would knowhereafter; but, for the present, she had no intention of asking him hismeaning, or of reproaching him for her two years of pining. Besides, allthat was past, ay, and forgotten now; in one single moment everythingseemed carried away before the delightful whirlwind that swept over herlife!

Still speechless, she told him of her great love and adoration for himby her sweet brimming eyes alone; she looked deeply and steadily at him, while the copious shower of happy tears poured adown her roseate cheeks. 

"Well done! and God bless you, my children, " said Granny Moan. "It'sthankful I be to Him, too, for I'm glad to have been let grow so old tosee this happy thing afore I go. "

Still there they remained, standing before one another with claspedhands, finding no words to utter; knowing of no word sweet enough, andno sentence worthy to break that exquisite silence. 

"Why don't ye kiss one another, my children? Lor'! but they're dumb!Dear me, what strange grandchildren I have here! Pluck up, Gaud; saysome'at to him, my dear. In my time lovers kissed when they plightedtheir troth. "

Yann raised his hat, as if suddenly seized with a vast, heretoforeunfelt reverence, before bending down to kiss Gaud. It seemed to himthat this was the first kiss worthy of the name he ever had given in hislife. 

She kissed him also, pressing her fresh lips, unused to refinements ofcaresses, with her whole heart, to his sea-bronzed cheek. 

Among the stones the cricket sang of happiness, being right for thistime. And Sylvestre's pitiful insignificant portrait seemed to smileon them out of its black frame. All things, in fact, seemed suddenly tothrob with life and with joy in the blighted cottage. The very silenceapparently burst into exquisite music; and the pale winter twilight, creeping in at the narrow window, became a wonderful, unearthly glow. 

"So we'll go to the wedding when the Icelanders return; eh, my dearchildren?"

Gaud hung her head. "Iceland, " the "_Leopoldine_"--so it was all real!while she had already forgotten the existence of those terrible thingsthat arose in their way. 

"When the Icelanders return. "

How long that anxious summer waiting would seem!

Yann drummed on the floor with his foot feverishly and rapidly. Heseemed to be in a great hurry to be off and back, and was telling thedays to know if, without losing time, they would be able to get marriedbefore his sailing. So many days to get the official papers filled andsigned; so many for the banns: that would only bring them up to thetwentieth or twenty-fifth of the month for the wedding, and if nothingrose in the way, they could have a whole honeymoon week together beforehe sailed. 

"I'm going to start by telling my father, " said he, with as much hasteas if each moment of their lives were now numbered and precious. 

PART IV -- YANN'S FIRST WEDDING

CHAPTER I--THE COURTING BY THE SEA

All sweethearts like to sit on the bench at their cottage door, whennight falls. 

Yann and Gaud did that likewise. Every evening they sat out togetherbefore the Moans' cottage, on the old granite seat, and talked love. 

Others have the spring-time, the soft shadow of the trees, balmyevenings, and flowering rosebushes; they had only the February twilight, which fell over the sea-beaten land, strewn with eel-grass and stones. There was no branch of verdure above their heads or around them; nothingbut the immense sky, over which passed the slowly wandering mists. And their flowers were brown sea-weeds, drawn up from the beach by thefishers, as they dragged their nets along. 

The winters are not very severe in this part of the country, beingtempered by currents of the sea; but, notwithstanding that, the gloamingwas often laden with invisible icy rain, which fell upon their shouldersas they sat together. But they remained there, feeling warm and happy. The bench, which was more than a hundred years old, did not seem in theleast surprised at their love, having seen many other pairs in its time;it had listened to many soft words, which are always the same on thelips of the young, from generation to generation; and it had become usedto seeing lovers sit upon it again, when they returned to it old andtrembling; but in the broad day, this time, to warm themselves in thelast sun they would see. 

From time to time Granny Moan would put her head out at the door to havea look at them, and try to induce them to come in. "You'll catch cold, my good children, " said she, "and then you'll fall ill--Lord knows, itreally isn't sensible to remain out so late. "

Cold! they cold? Were they conscious of anything else besides the blissof being together. 

The passers-by in the evening down their pathway, heard the soft murmurof two voices mingling with the voice of the sea, down below at the footof the cliffs. It was a most harmonious music; Gaud's sweet, fresh voicealternated with Yann's, which had soft, caressing notes in the lowertones. Their profiles could be clearly distinguished on the granite wallagainst which they reclined; Gaud with her white headgear and slenderblack-robed figure, and beside her the broad, square shoulders of herbeloved. Behind and above rose the ragged dome of the straw thatch, andthe darkening, infinite, and colourless waste of the sea and sky floatedover all. 

Finally, they did go in to sit down by the hearth, whereupon old Yvonneimmediately nodded off to sleep, and did not trouble the two lovers verymuch. So they went on communing in a low voice, having to make up fortwo years of silence; they had to hurry on their courtship because itwas to last so short a time. 

It was arranged that they were to live with Granny Moan, who would leavethem the cottage in her will; for the present, they made no alterationsin it, for want of time, and put off their plan for embellishing theirpoor lonely home until the fisherman's return from Iceland. 

CHAPTER II--THE SEAMAN'S SECRET

One evening Yann amused himself by relating to his affianced a thousandthings she had done, or which had happened to her since their firstmeeting; he even enumerated to her the different dresses she had had, and the jollifications to which she had been. 

She listened in great surprise. How did he know all this? Who would havethought of a man ever paying any attention to such matters, and beingcapable of remembering so clearly?

But he only smiled at her in a mysterious way, and went on mentioningother facts to her that she had altogether forgotten. 

She did not interrupt him; nay, she but let him continue, while anunexpected delicious joy welled up in her heart; she began, at length, to divine and understand everything. He, too, had loved--loved her, through that weary time. She had been his constant thought, as he wasguilelessly confessing. But, in this case, what had been his reason forrepelling her at first and making her suffer so long?

There always remained this mystery that he had promised to explain toher--yet still seemed to elude--with a confused, incomprehensible smile. 

CHAPTER III--THE OMINOUS WEDDING-DRESS

One fine day, the loving pair went over to Paimpol, with Granny Moan, tobuy the wedding-dress. 

Gaud could very easily have done over one of her former town-lady'sdresses for the occasion. But Yann had wanted to make her this present, and she had not resisted too long the having a dress given by herbetrothed, and paid for by the money he had earned at his fishing; itseemed as if she were already his wife by this act. 

They chose black, for Gaud had not yet left off mourning for her father;but Yann did not find any of the stuffs they placed before them goodenough. He was not a little overbearing with the shopman; he, whoformerly never would have set his foot inside a shop, wanted to manageeverything himself, even to the very fashion of the dress. He wished itadorned with broad beads of velvet, so that it would be very fine, inhis mind. 

CHAPTER IV--FLOWER OF THE THORN

One evening as these lovers sat out on their stone bench in the solitudeover which the night fell, they suddenly perceived a hawthorn bush, which grew solitarily between the rocks, by the side of the road, covered with tiny flowered tufts. 

"It looks as if 'twas in bloom, " said Yann. 

They drew near to inspect it. It was in full flower, indeed. As theycould not see very well in the twilight, they touched the tiny blooms, wet with mist. Then the first impression of spring came to them at thesame time they noticed this; the days had already lengthened, the airwas warmer, and the night more luminous. But how forward this particularbush was! They could not find another like it anywhere around, not one!It had blossomed, you see, expressly for them, for the celebration oftheir loving plight. 

"Oh! let us gather some more, " said Yann. 

Groping in the dark, he cut a nosegay with the stout sailor's knife thathe always wore in his belt, and paring off all the thorns, he placed itin Gaud's bosom. 

"You look like a bride now, " said he, stepping back to judge of theeffect, notwithstanding the deepening dusk. 

At their feet the calm sea rose and fell over the shingle with anintermittent swash, regular as the breathing of a sleeper; for it seemedindifferent or ever favourable to the love-making going on hard by. 

In expectation of these evenings the days appeared long to them, andwhen they bade each other good-bye at ten o'clock, they felt a kind ofdiscouragement, because it was all so soon over. 

They had to hurry with the official documents for fear of not beingready in time, and of letting their happiness slip by until the autumn, or even uncertainty. 

Their evening courtship in that mournful spot, lulled by the continualeven wash of the sea, with that feverish impression of the flight oftime, was almost gloomy and ominous. They were like no lovers; moreserious and restless were they in their love than the common run. 

Yet Yann never told her what mysterious thing had kept him away from herfor these two lonely years; and after he returned home of a night, Gaudgrew uneasy as before, although he loved her perfectly--this she knew. It is true that he had loved her all along, but not as now; love grewstronger in his heart and mind, like a tide rising and overbrimming. Henever had known this kind of love before. 

Sometimes on their stone seat he lay down, resting his head in Gaud'slap like a caressing child, till, suddenly remembering propriety, hewould draw himself up erect. He would have liked to lie on the veryground at her feet, and remain there with his brow pressed to the hem ofher garments. Excepting the brotherly kiss he gave her when he came andwent, he did not dare to embrace her. He adored that invisible spirit inher, which appeared in the very sound of her pure, tranquil voice, theexpression of her smile, and in her clear eye. 

CHAPTER V--THE COST OF OBSTINACY

One rainy evening they were sitting side by side near the hearth, andGranny Moan was asleep opposite them. The fire flames, dancing over thebranches on the hearth, projected their magnified shadows on the beamsoverhead. 

They spoke to one another in that low voice of all lovers. But upon thisparticular evening their conversation was now and again broken by longtroubled silence. He, in particular, said very little and lowered hishead with a faint smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For she hadbeen pressing him with questions all the evening concerning that mysterythat he positively would not divulge; and this time he felt himselfcornered. She was too quick for him, and had fully made up her mind tolearn; no possible shifts could get him out of telling her now. 

"Was it any bad tales told about me?" she asked. 

He tried to answer "yes, " and faltered: "Oh! there was always plenty ofrubbish babbled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec. "

She asked what, but he could not answer her; so then she thought ofsomething else. "Was it about my style of dress, Yann?"

Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time shehad dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But he wasobliged to acknowledge that that was not all. 

"Was it because at that time we passed for very rich people, and youwere afraid of being refused?"

"Oh, no! not that. " He said this with such simple confidence that Gaudwas amused. 

Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-winds washeard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck her, andher expression changed. 

"If not anything of that sort, Yann, _what_ was it?" demanded she, suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, with the irresistiblequestioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense withconfirmation. 

He turned aside, laughing outright. 

So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright; he never could give her areal reason, because there was none to give. He had simply "played themule" (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But everybody had teased himso much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly said "no, " but knew wellenough in the bottom of his heart that when nobody thought any moreabout the hollow mystery it would become "yes. "

So it was on account of Yann's childishness that Gaud had beenlanguishing, forsaken for two long years, and had longed to die. 

At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive him? He felt such remorse forhaving made her suffer. Would she forgive him?

"It's my temper that does it, Gaud, " said he. "At home with my folks, it's the same thing. Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole weekangered against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you know how Ilove them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like a boy. Ifyou think that I was happy to live unmarried, you're mistaken. No, itcouldn't have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure. "

Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft tears fall, sheknew they were the outflow of her last pangs vanishing before Yann'sconfession. Besides, the present never would have been so happy withoutall her suffering; that being over, she was almost pleased at havinggone through that time of trial. 

Everything was finally cleared up between them, in a very unexpectedthough complete manner; there remained no clouds between their souls. He drew her towards him, and they remained some time with their cheekspressed close, requiring no further explanations. So chaste was theirembrace, that the old grandam suddenly awaking, they remained before heras they were without any confusion or embarrassment. 

CHAPTER VI--THE BRIDAL

It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their wedding processionwas returning from Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky. 

They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked along as in adream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing about them; as if theywere above ordinary life and everybody else. The very wind seemed torespect them, while behind them their "train" was a jolly medley oflaughing couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale. 

Many people were present, overflowing with young life; others turninggray, but these still smiled as they thought of _their_ wedding-day andyounger years. Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting alittle, but something like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle ofYann's, who was paying her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grandnew cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had beendyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre. 

The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets and _coiffes_, were similarly tossed about mercilessly. 

At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant to custom, hadbought two nosegays of artificial flowers, to complete their bridalattire. Yann had fastened his on anyhow upon his broad chest, but hewas one of those men whom anything becomes. As for Gaud, there was stillsomething of the lady about the manner in which she had placed the rudeflowers in her bodice, as of old very close fitting to her unrivalledform. 

The violin player, who led the whole band, bewildered by the wind, played at random; his tunes were heard by fits and starts betwixt thenoisy gusts, and rose as shrill as the screaming of a sea-gull. AllPloubazlanec had turned out to look at them. This marriage seemed toexcite people's sympathy, and many had come from far around; at eachturn of the road there were groups stationed to see them pass. Nearlyall Yann's mates, the Icelanders of Paimpol, were there. They cheeredthe bride and bridegroom as they passed; Gaud returned their greeting, bowing slightly like a town lady, with serious grace; and all along theway she was greatly admired. 

The darkest and most secluded hamlets around, even those in the woods, had been emptied of all their beggars, cripples, wastrels, poor, andidiots on crutches; these wretches scattered along the road, withaccordions and hurdy-gurdies; they held out their hands and hats toreceive the alms that Yann threw to them with his own noble look andGaud with her beautiful queenly smile. Some of these poor waifswere very old and wore gray locks on heads that had never held much;crouching in the hollows of the roadside, they were of the same colouras the earth from which they seemed to have sprung, but so unformed assoon to be returned without ever having had any human thoughts. Theirwandering glances were as indecipherable as the mystery of theirabortive and useless existences. Without comprehending, they lookedat the merrymakers' line pass by. It went on beyond Pors-Even and theGaoses' home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal tradition ofPloubazlanec and go to the chapel of La Trinite, which is situated atthe very end of the Breton country. 

At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on a threshold of low-lyingrocks close to the water, and seems almost to belong to the sea already. A narrow goat's path leads down to it through masses of granite. 

The wedding party spread over the incline of the forsaken cape head;and among the rocks and stones, happy words were lost in the roar of thewind and the surf. 

It was useless to try and reach the chapel; in this boisterous weatherthe path was not safe, the sea came too close with its high rollers. Its white-crested spouts sprang up in the air, so as to break overeverything in a ceaseless shower. 

Yann, who had advanced the farthest with Gaud on his arm, was the firstto retreat before the spray. Behind, his wedding party had remainedstrewn about the rocks, in a semicircle; it seemed as if he had cometo present his wife to the sea, which received her with scowling, ill-boding aspect. 

Turning round, he caught sight of the violinist perched on a gray rock, trying vainly to play his dance tunes between gusts of wind. 

"Put up your music, my lad, " said Yann; "old Neptune is playing us alivelier tune than yours. "

A heavily beating shower, which had threatened since morning, began tofall. There was a mad rush then, accompanied by outcries and laughter, to climb up the bluff and take refuge at the Gaoses'. 

CHAPTER VII--THE DISCORDANT NOTE

The wedding breakfast was given at Yann's parents', because Gaud'shome was so poor. It took place upstairs in the great new room. Five-and-twenty guests sat down round the newly married pair--sistersand brothers, cousin Gaos the pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, Yvon Duff, allof the old _Marie's_ crew, who were now the _Leopoldine's_; four verypretty bridesmaids, with their hair-plaits wound round their ears, likethe empresses' in ancient Byzantium, and their modern white caps, shapedlike sea-shells; and four best men, all broad-shouldered Icelanders, with large proud eyes. 

Downstairs, of course, there was eating and cooking going on; the wholetrain of the wedding procession had gathered there in disorder; and theextra servants, hired from Paimpol, well-nigh lost their senses beforethe mighty lumbering up of the capacious hearth with pots and pans. 

Yann's parents would have wished a richer wife for their son, naturally, but Gaud was known now as a good, courageous girl; and then, in spiteof her lost fortune, she was the greatest beauty in the country, and itflattered them to see the couple so well matched. 

The old father was inclined to be merry after the soup, and spoke of thebringing up of his fourteen little Gaoses; but they were all doing well, thanks to the ten thousand francs that had made them well off. 

Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he played in the navy, yarns aboutChina, the West Indies, and Brazil, making the young ones who would beoff some day, open their eyes in wonderment. 

"There is a cry against the sea-service, " said the old sailor, laughing, "but a man can have fine fun in it. "

The weather did not clear up; on the contrary, the wind and rain ragedthrough the gloomy night; and in spite of the care taken, some of theguests were fidgety about their smacks anchored in the harbour, andspoke of getting up to go and see if all was right. But here a morejovial sound than ever was heard from downstairs, where the youngermembers of the party were supping together; cheers of joy and peals oflaughter ascended. The little cousins were beginning to feel exhilaratedby the cider. 

Boiled and roasted meats had been served up with poultry, differentkinds of fish, omelets and pancakes. 

The debate had turned upon fishery and smuggling, and the best means offooling the coast-guardsmen, who, as we all know, are the sworn enemiesof honest seafarers. 

Upstairs, at the grand table, old circumnavigators went so far as torelate droll stories, in the vernacular. 

But the wind was raging altogether too strong; for the windows shookwith a terrible clatter, and the man telling the tale had hurriedlyended to go and see to his smack. 

Then another went on: "When I was bo's'n's mate aboard of the _Zenobie_, a-lying at Aden, and a-doing the duty of a corporal of marines, by thesame token, you ought to ha' seen the ostridge feather traders a-tryingto scramble up over the side. [_Imitating the broken talk_] 'Bon-joo, cap'n! we're not thiefs--we're honest merchants'--Honest, my eye! with asweep of the bucket, a purtending to draw some water up, I sent 'em allflying back an oar's length. 'Honest merchants, are ye, ' says I, 'thensend us up a bunch of honest feathers first--with a hard dollar or twoin the core of it, d'ye see, and then I'll believe in your honesty!'Why, I could ha' made my fortun' out of them beggars, if I hadn't beenborn and brought up honest myself, and but a sucking-dove in wisdom, saying nothing of my having a sweetheart at Toulon in the millineryline, who could have used any quantity of feathers----"

Ha! here's one of Yann's little brothers, a future Iceland fisherman, with a fresh pink face and bright eyes, who is suddenly taken ill fromhaving drunk too much cider. So little Laumec has to be carried off, which cuts short the story of the milliner and the feathers. 

The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil spirit in torment; withfearful strength, it shook the whole house on its stone foundation. 

"It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos we're enjoying ofourselves, " said the pilot cousin. 

"No, it's the sea that's wrathy, " corrected Yann, smiling at Gaud, "because I'd promised I'd be wedded to _her_. "

A strange languor seemed to envelop them both; they spoke to one anotherin a low voice, apart, in the midst of the general gaiety. Yann, knowingthoroughly the effect of wine, did not drink at all. Now and then heturned dull too, thinking of Sylvestre. It was an understood thing thatthere was to be no dancing, on account of him and of Gaud's dead father. 

It was the dessert now; the singing would soon begin. But first therewere the prayers to say, for the dead of the family; this form is neveromitted, at all wedding-feasts, and is a solemn duty. So when old Gaosrose and uncovered his white head, there was a dead silence around. 

"This, " said he, "is for Guillaume Gaos, my father. " Making the sign ofthe cross, he began the Lord's prayer in Latin: "_Pater noster, qui esin coelis, sanctificetur nomen tumm_----"

The silence included all, even to the joyful little ones downstairs, andevery voice was repeating in an undertone the same eternal words. 

"This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two brothers, who were lost in theSea of Iceland. This is for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked aboardthe _Zelie_. " When all the dead Gaoses had had their prayers, he turnedtowards grandmother Moan, saying, "This one is for Sylvestre Moan. "

Yann wept as he recited another prayer. 

"_Sed libera nos a malo. Amen_!"

Then the songs began; sea-songs learned in the navy, on the forecastle, where we all know there are rare good vocalists. 

"_Un noble corps, pas moins que celui des Zouaves_, " etc. 

A noble and a gallant lad The Zouave is, we know, But, capping him forbravery, The sailor stands, I trow. Hurrah, hurrah! long life to him, Whose glory never can grow dim!

This was sung by one of the bride's supporters, in a feeling tone thatwent to the soul; and the chorus was taken up by other fine, manlyvoices. 

But the newly wedded pair seemed to listen as from a distance. When theylooked at one another, their eyes shone with dulled brilliance, likethat of transparently shaded lamps. They spoke in even a lower voice, and still held each other's hands. Gaud bent her head, too, graduallyovercome by a vast, delightful terror, before her master. 

The pilot cousin went around the table, serving out a wine of his own;he had brought it with much care, hugging and patting the bottle, whichought not to be shaken, he said. He told the story of it. One day outfishing they saw a cask a-floating; it was too big to haul on board, sothey had stove in the head and filled all the pots and pans they had, with most of its contents. It was impossible to take all, so they hadsignalled to other pilots and fishers, and all the sails in sight hadflocked round the flotsam. 

"And I know more than one old sobersides who was gloriously topheavywhen we got back to Pors-Even at night!" he chuckled liquorishly. 

The wind still went on with its fearful din. 

Downstairs the children were dancing in rings; except some of theyoungest, sent to bed; but the others, who were romping about, led bylittle Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guillaume), wanted to go and playoutside. Every minute they were opening the door and letting in furiousgusts, which blew out the candles. 

The pilot cousin went on with his story. Forty bottles had fallen tohis lot, he said. He begged them all to say nothing about it, because of"_Monsieur le Commissaire de l'Inscription Maritime_, " who would surelymake a fuss over the undeclared find. 

"But, d'ye see, " he went on, "it sarved the lubbers right to heave oversuch a vallyble cask or let it 'scape the lashings, for it's superiorquality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice in it than in all thewine-merchants' cellars of Paimpol. Goodness knows whence it came--thishere castaway liquor. "

It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed with sea-water, and hadthe flavour of cod-pickle, but in spite of that, relishable; and severalbottles were emptied. 

Some heads began to spin; the Babel of voices became more confused, andthe lads kissed the lasses less surreptitiously. 

The songs joyously continued; but the winds would not moderate, andthe seamen exchanged tokens of apprehension about the bad weatherincreasing. 

The sinister clamour without was indeed worse than ever. It hadbecome one continuous howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand madcreatures were yelling with full throats and out-stretched necks. 

One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting out their deafening boomin the distance, but that was only the sea hammering the coast ofPloubazlanec on all points; undoubtedly it did not appear contented, and Gaud felt her heart shrink at this dismal music, which no one hadordered for their wedding-feast. 

Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who had risen softly, beckonedhis wife to come to speak with him. 

It was to go home. She blushed, filled with shame, and confused athaving left her seat so promptly. She said it would be impolite to goaway directly and leave the others. 

"Not a bit on it, " replied Yann, "my father allows it; we may go, " andaway he carried her. 

They hurried away stealthily. Outside they found themselves in the cold, the bitter wind, and the miserable, agitated night. They began to runhand-in-hand. 

From the height of the cliff-path, one could imagine, without seeing it, the furious open sea, whence arose all this hubbub. They ran along, thewind cutting their faces, both bowed before the angry gusts, and obligedto put their hands over their mouths to cover their breathing, which thewind had completely taken away at first. 

He held her up by the waist at the outset, to keep her dress fromtrailing on the ground, and her fine new shoes from being spoiled in thewater, which streamed about their feet, and next he held her round theneck, too, and continued to run on still faster. He could hardly realizethat he loved her so much! To think that she was now twenty-three andhe nearly twenty-eight; that they might have been married two years ago, and as happy then as to-night!

At last they arrived at home, that poor lodging, with its damp flooringand moss-grown roof. They lit the candle, which the wind blew out twice. 

Old grandam Moan, who had been taken home before the singing began, wasthere. She had been sleeping for the last two hours in her bunk, theflaps of which were shut. They drew near with respect and peeped throughthe fretwork of her press, to bid her good-night, if by chance she werenot asleep. But they only perceived her still venerable face and closedeyes; she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb them. 

They felt they were alone then. Both trembled as they clasped hands. He bent forward to kiss her lips; but Gaud turned them aside, throughignorance of that kind of kiss; and as chastely as on the evening oftheir betrothal, she pressed hers to Yann's cheek, which was chilled, almost frozen, by the wind. 

It was bitterly cold in their poor, low-roofed cottage. If Gaud had onlyremained rich, what happiness she would have felt in arranging a prettyroom, not like this one on the bare ground! She was scarcely yet used tothese rugged granite walls, and the rough look of all things around; buther Yann was there now, and by his presence everything was changed andtransfigured. She saw only her husband. Their lips met now; no turningaside. Still standing with their arms intertwined tightly to drawthemselves together, they remained dumb, in the perfect ecstasy of anever-ending kiss. Their fluttering breath commingled, and both quiveredas if in a burning fever. They seemed without power to tear themselvesapart, and knew nothing and desired nothing beyond that long kiss ofconsecrated love. 

She drew herself away, suddenly agitated. "Nay, Yann! Granny Yvonnemight see us, " she faltered. 

But he, with a smile, sought his wife's lips again and fastened his ownupon them, like a thirsty man whose cup of fresh water had been takenfrom him. 

The movement they had made broke the charm of delightful hesitation. Yann, who, at the first, was going to kneel to her as before a saint, felt himself fired again. He glanced stealthily towards the old oakenbunk, irritated at being so close to the old woman, and seeking someway not to be spied upon, but ever without breaking away from thoseexquisite lips. 

He stretched forth his arm behind him, and with the back of his handdashed out the light, as if the wind had done it. Then he snatched herup in his arms. Still holding her close, with his mouth continuallypressed to hers, he seemed like a wild lion with his teeth embedded inhis prey. For her part she gave herself up entirely, to that body andsoul seizure that was imperious and without possible resistance, eventhough it remained soft as a great all-comprising embrace. 

Around them, for their wedding hymn, the same invisible orchestra, played on----"Hoo-ooh-hoo!" At times the wind bellowed out in its deepnoise, with a _tremolo_ of rage; and again repeated its threats, as ifwith refined cruelty, in low sustained tones, flute-like as the hoot ofan owl. 

The broad, fathomless grave of all sailors lay nigh to them, restlessand ravenous, drumming against the cliffs with its muffled boom. 

One night or another Yann would have to be caught in that maw, andbattle with it in the midst of the terror of ice as well. Both knew thisplainly. 

But what mattered that now to them on land, sheltered from the sea'sfutile fury. In their poor gloomy cottage, over which tempest rushed, they scorned all that was hostile, intoxicated and delightfullyfortified against the whole by the eternal magic of love. 

CHAPTER VIII--THE BLISSFUL WEEK

For six days they were husband and wife. In this time of leave-takingthe preparations for the Iceland season occupied everybody. The womenheaped up the salt for the pickle in the holds of the vessels; the mensaw to the masts and rigging. Yann's mother and sisters worked frommorning till night at the making of the sou'westers and oilskinwaterproofs. 

The weather was dull, and the sea, forefeeling the approach of theequinoctial gales, was restless and heaving. 

Gaud went through these inexorable preparations with agony; counting thefleeting hours of the day, and looking forward to the night, when thework was over, and she would have her Yann to herself. 

Would he leave her every year in this way?

She hoped to be able to keep him back, but she did not dare to speak tohim about this wish as yet. He loved her passionately, too; he never hadknown anything like this affection before; it was such a fresh, trustingtenderness that the same caresses and fondlings always seemed as ifnovel and unknown heretofore; and their intoxication of love continuedto increase, and never seemed--never was satiated. 

What charmed and surprised her in her mate was his tenderness andboyishness. This the Yann in love, whom she had sometimes seen atPaimpol most contemptuous towards the girls. On the contrary, to her healways maintained that kindly courtesy that seemed natural to him, andshe adored that beautiful smile that came to him whenever their eyesmet. Among these simple folk there exists the feeling of absoluterespect for the dignity of the wife; there is an ocean between her andthe sweetheart. Gaud was essentially the wife. She was sorely troubledin her happiness, however, for it seemed something too unhoped for, asunstable as a joyful dream. Besides, would this love be lasting in Yann?She remembered sometimes his former flames, his fancies and differentlove adventures, and then she grew fearful. Would he always cherish thatinfinite tenderness and sweet respect for her?

Six days of a wedded life, for such a love as theirs, was nothing; onlya fevered instalment taken from the married life term, which might beso long before them yet! They had scarcely had leisure to be together atall and understand that they really belonged to one another. All theirplans of life together, of peaceful joy, and settling down, was forcedlyput off till the fisherman's return. 

No! at any price she would stop him from going to this dreadful Icelandanother year! But how should she manage? And what could they do for alivelihood, being both so poor? Then again he so dearly loved the sea. But in spite of all, she would try and keep him home another season; shewould use all her power, intelligence, and heart to do so. Was she tobe the wife of an Icelander, to watch each spring-tide approach withsadness, and pass the whole summer in painful anxiety? no, now that sheloved him, above everything that she could imagine, she felt seized withan immense terror at the thought of years to come thus robbed of thebetter part. 

They had one spring day together--only one. It was the day before thesailing; all the stores had been shipped, and Yann remained the wholeday with her. They strolled along, arm-in-arm, through the lanes, likesweethearts again, very close to one another, murmuring a thousandtender things. The good folk smiled, as they saw them pass, saying:

"It's Gaud, with long Yann from Pors-Even. They were married onlyt'other day!"

This last day was really spring. It was strange and wonderful to beholdthis universal serenity. Not a single cloud marred the lately fleckedsky. The wind did not blow anywhere. The sea had become quite tranquil, and was of a pale, even blue tint. The sun shone with glaring whitebrilliancy, and the rough Breton land seemed bathed in its light, asin a rare, delicate ether; it seemed to brighten and revive even inthe utmost distance. The air had a delicious, balmy scent, as of summeritself, and seemed as if it were always going to remain so, and neverknow any more gloomy, thunderous days. The capes and bays over whichthe changeful shadows of the clouds no longer passed, were outlined instrong steady lines in the sunlight, and appeared to rest also in thelong-during calm. All this made their loving festival sweeter and longerdrawn out. The early flowers already appeared: primroses, and frail, scentless violets grew along the hedgerows. 

When Gaud asked: "How long then are you going to love me, Yann?"

He answered, surprisedly, looking at her full in the face with his frankeyes: "Why, for ever, Gaud. "

That word, spoken so simply by his fierce lips, seemed to have its truesense of eternity. 

She leaned on his arm. In the enchantment of her realized dream, shepressed close to him, always anxious, feeling that he was as flighty asa wild sea-bird. To-morrow he would take his soaring on the open sea. And it was too late now, she could do nothing to stop him. 

From the cliff-paths where they wandered, they could see the whole ofthis sea-bound country; which seems almost treeless, strewn with low, stunted bush and boulders. Here and there fishers' huts were scatteredover the rocks, their high battered thatches made green by the croppingup of new mosses; and in the extreme distance, the sea, like a boundlesstransparency, stretched out in a never-ending horizon, which seemed toencircle everything. 

She enjoyed telling him about all the wonderful things she had seen inParis, but he was very contemptuous, and was not interested. 

"It's so far from the coast, " said he, "and there is so much landbetween, that it must be unhealthy. So many houses and so many people, too, about! There must be lots of ills and ails in those big towns; no, I shouldn't like to live there, certain sure!"

She smiled, surprised to see this giant so simple a fellow. 

Sometimes they came across hollows where trees grew and seemed to defythe winds. There was no view here, only dead leaves scattered beneaththeir feet and chilly dampness; the narrow way, bordered on both sidesby green reeds, seemed very dismal under the shadow of the branches;hemmed in by the walls of some dark, lonely hamlet, rotting with oldage, and slumbering in this hollow. 

A crucifix arose inevitably before them, among the dead branches, withits colossal image of Our Saviour in weather-worn wood, its featureswrung with His endless agony. 

Then the pathway rose again, and they found themselves commanding theview of immense horizons--and breathed the bracing air of sea-heightsonce more. 

He, to match her, spoke of Iceland, its pale, nightless summers and sunthat never set. Gaud did not understand and asked him to explain. 

"The sun goes all round, " said he, waving his arm in the direction ofthe distant circle of the blue waters. "It always remains very low, because it has no strength to rise; at midnight, it drags a bitthrough the water, but soon gets up and begins its journey round again. Sometimes the moon appears too, at the other side of the sky; then theymove together, and you can't very well tell one from t'other, for theyare much alike in that queer country. "

To see the sun at midnight! How very far off Iceland must be for suchmarvels to happen! And the fjords? Gaud had read that word several timeswritten among the names of the dead in the chapel of the shipwrecked, and it seemed to portend some grisly thing. 

"The fjords, " said Yann, "they are not broad bays, like Paimpol, forinstance; only they are surrounded by high mountains--so high thatthey seem endless, because of the clouds upon their tops. It's a sorrycountry, I can tell you, darling. Nothing but stones. The people ofIceland know of no such things as trees. In the middle of August, whenour fishery is over, it's quite time to return, for the nights beginagain then, and they lengthen out very quickly; the sun falls below theearth without being able to get up, and that night lasts all thewinter through. Talking of night, " he continued, "there's a littleburying-ground on the coast in one of the fjords, for Paimpol men whohave died during the season or went down at sea; it's consecrated earth, just like at Pors-Even, and the dead have wooden crosses just likeours here, with their names painted on them. The two Goazdious fromPloubazlanec lie there, and Guillaume Moan, Sylvestre's grandfather. "

She could almost see the little churchyard at the foot of the solitarycapes, under the pale rose-coloured light of those never-ending days, and she thought of those distant dead, under the ice and dark windingsheets of the long night-like winters. 

"Do you fish the whole time?" she asked, "without ever stopping?"

"The whole time, though we somehow get on with work on deck, for the seaisn't always fine out there. Well! of course we're dead beat when thenight comes, but it gives a man an appetite--bless you, dearest, weregularly gobble down our meals. "

"Do you never feel sick of it?"

"Never, " returned he, with an air of unshaken faith which pained her;"on deck, on the open sea, the time never seems long to a man--never!"

She hung her head, feeling sadder than ever, and more and morevanquished by her only enemy, the sea. 

PART V -- THE SECOND WEDDING

CHAPTER I--THE START

After the spring day they had enjoyed, the falling night brought backthe impression of winter, and they returned to dine before their fire, which was flaming with new branches. It was their last meal together;but they had some hours yet, and were not saddened. 

After dinner, they recovered the sweet impression of spring again, outon the Pors-Even road; for the air was calm, almost genial, and thetwilight still lingered over the land. 

They went to see the family--for Yann to bid good-bye--and returnedearly, as they wished to rise with break of day. 

The next morning the quay of Paimpol was crowded with people. Thedepartures for Iceland had begun the day before, and with each tidethere was a fresh fleet off. On this particular morning, fifteen vesselswere to start with the _Leopoldine_, and the wives or mothers of thesailors were all present at the getting under sail. 

Gaud, who was now the wife of an Icelander, was much surprised tofind herself among them all, and brought thither for the same fatefulpurpose. Her position seemed to have become so intensified within thelast few days, that she had barely had time to realize things as theywere; gliding irresistibly down an incline, she had arrived at thisinexorable conclusion that she must bear up for the present, and do asthe others did, who were accustomed to it. 

She never before had been present at these farewells; hence all was newto her. Among these women was none like her, and she felt her differenceand isolation. Her past life, as a lady, was still remembered, andcaused her to be set aside as one apart. 

The weather had remained fine on this parting-day; but out at sea aheavy swell came from the west, foretelling wind, and the sea, lying inwait for these new adventurers, burst its crests afar. 

Around Gaud stood many good-looking wives like her, and touching, withtheir eyes big with tears; others were thoughtless and lively; thesehad no heart or were not in love. Old women, threatened nearly bydeath, wept as they clung to their sons; sweethearts kissed each other;half-maudlin sailors sang to cheer themselves up, while others went onboard with gloomy looks as to their execution. 

Many sad incidents could be marked; there were poor luckless fellowswho had signed their contracts unconsciously, when in liquor in thegrog-shop, and they had to be dragged on board by force; their own wiveshelping the gendarmes. Others, noted for their great strength, hadbeen drugged in drink beforehand, and were carried like corpses onstretchers, and flung down in the forecastles. 

Gaud was frightened by all this; what companions were these for herYann? and what a fearful thing was this Iceland, to inspire men withsuch terror of it?

Yet there were sailors who smiled, and were happy; who, doubtless, likeYann, loved the untrammelled life and hard fishing work; those werethe sound, able seamen, who had fine noble countenances; if they wereunmarried they went off recklessly, merely casting a last look on thelasses; and if they were married, they kissed their wives and littleones, with fervent sadness and deep hopefulness as to returning home allthe richer. 

Gaud was a little comforted when she saw that all the _Leopoldines_ wereof the latter class, forming really a picked crew. 

The vessels set off two by two, or four by four, drawn out by the tugs. As soon as they moved the sailors raised their caps and, full-voiced, struck up the hymn to the Virgin: "_Salut, Etoile-de-la-Mer_!" (AllHail! Star of the Sea!), while on the quay, the women waved their handsfor a last farewell, and tears fell upon the lace strings of the caps. 

As soon as the _Leopoldine_ started, Gaud quickly set off towards thehouse of the Gaoses. After an hour and a half's walk along the coast, through the familiar paths of Ploubazlanec, she arrived there, at thevery land's end, within the home of her new family. 

The _Leopoldine_ was to cast anchor off Pors-Even before startingdefinitely in the evening, so the married pair had made a lastappointment here. Yann came to land in the yawl, and stayed anotherthree hours with her to bid her good-bye on firm land. The weather wasstill beautiful and spring-like, and the sky serene. 

They walked out on the high road arm-in-arm, and it reminded them oftheir walk the day before. They strolled on towards Paimpol withoutany apparent object in view, and soon came to their own house, as ifunconsciously drawn there; they entered together for the last time. Grandam Moan was quite amazed at seeing them together again. 

Yann left many injunctions with Gaud concerning several of his things inhis wardrobe, especially about his fine wedding clothes; she was to takethem out occasionally and air them in the sun, and so on. On board shipthe sailors learn all these household-like matters; but Gaud was amusedto hear it. Her husband might have been sure, though, that all histhings would be kept and attended to, with loving care. 

But all these matters were very secondary for them; they spoke of themonly to have something to talk about, and to hide their real feelings. They went on speaking in low, soft tones, as if fearing to frighten awaythe moments that remained, and so make time flit by more swiftly still. Their conversation was as a thing that had inexorably to come to an end;and the most insignificant things that they said seemed, on this day, tobecome wondrous, mysterious, and important. 

At the very last moment Yann caught up his wife in his arms, and withoutsaying a word, they were enfolded in a long and silent embrace. 

He embarked; the gray sails were unfurled and spread out to the lightwind that rose from the west. He, whom she still could distinguish, waved his cap in a particular way agreed on between them. And with herfigure outlined against the sea, she gazed for a long, long time uponher departing love. 

That tiny, human-shaped speck, appearing black against the bluish grayof the waters, was still her husband, even though already it becamevague and indefinable, lost in the distance, where persistent sightbecomes baffled, and can see no longer. 

As the _Leopoldine_ faded out of vision, Gaud, as if drawn by a magnet, followed the pathway all along the cliffs till she had to stop, becausethe land came to an end; she sat down at the foot of a tall cross, whichrises amidst the gorse and stones. As it was rather an elevated spot, the sea, as seen from there, appeared to be rimmed, as in a bowl, andthe _Leopoldine_, now a mere point, appeared sailing up the incline ofthat immense circle. The water rose in great slow undulations, like theupheavals of a submarine combat going on somewhere beyond the horizon;but over the great space where Yann still was, all dwelt calm. 

Gaud still gazed at the ship, trying to fix its image well in her brain, so that she might recognise it again from afar, when she returned to thesame place to watch for its home-coming. 

Great swells now rolled in from the west, one after another, withoutcessation, renewing their useless efforts, and ever breaking over thesame rocks, foaming over the same places, to wash the same stones. The stifled fury of the sea appeared strange, considering the absolutecalmness of the air and sky; it was as if the bed of the sea were toofull and would overflow and swallow up the strand. 

The _Leopoldine_ had grown smaller and smaller, and was lost in thedistance. Doubtless the under-tow carried her along, for she movedswiftly and yet the evening breezes were very faint. Now she was onlya tiny, gray touch, and would soon reach the extreme horizon of allvisible things, and enter those infinite regions, whence darkness wasbeginning to come. 

Going on seven o'clock, night closed, and the boat had disappeared. Gaudreturned home, feeling withal rather brave, notwithstanding the tearsthat uncontainably fell. What a difference it would have been, and whatstill greater pain, if he had gone away, as in the two preceding years, without even a good-bye! While now everything was softened and betteredbetween them. He was really her own Yann, and she knew herself to be sotruly loved, notwithstanding this separation, that, as she returnedhome alone, she felt at least consoled by the thought of the delightfulwaiting for that "soon again!" to be realized to which they had pledgedthemselves for the autumn. 

CHAPTER II--THE FIRST OF THE FLEET

The summer passed sadly, being hot and uneventful. She watched anxiouslyfor the first yellowed leaves, and the first gathering of the swallows, and blooming of the chrysanthemums. She wrote to Yann several times bythe boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the government cruisers, but onenever can be sure of such letters reaching their destination. 

Towards the end of July, she received a letter from him, however. Hetold her that his health was good, that the fishing season promisedto be excellent, and that he already had 1500 fish for his share. Frombeginning to end, it was written in the simple conventional way of allthese Icelanders' home letters. Men educated like Yann completely ignorehow to write the thousand things they think, feel, or fancy. Being morecultivated than he, Gaud could understand this, and read between thelines that deep affection that was unexpressed. Several times in thefour-paged letter, he called her by the title of "wife, " as if happy inrepeating the word. And the address above: "_A Madame Marguerite Gaos, maison Moan, en Ploubazlanec_"--she was "Madame Marguerite Gaos" sinceso short a time. 

She worked hard during these summer months. The ladies of Paimpol had, at first, hardly believed in her talent as an amateur dressmaker, saying her hands were too fine-ladyish; but they soon perceived thatshe excelled in making dresses that were very nice-fitting, so she hadbecome almost a famous dressmaker. 

She spent all her earnings in embellishing their home against hisreturn. The wardrobe and old-shelved beds were all done up afresh, waxedover, and bright new fastenings put on; she had put a pane of glass intotheir little window towards the sea, and hung up a pair of curtains;and she had bought a new counterpane for the winter, with new chairs andtable. 

She had kept the money untouched that her Yann had left her, carefullyput by in a small Chinese box, to show him when he returned. During thesummer evenings, by the fading light, she sat out before the cottagedoor with Granny Moan, whose head was much better in the warm weather, and knitted a fine new blue wool jersey for her Yann; round the collarand cuffs were wonderful open-work embroideries. Granny Yvonne had beena very clever knitter in her day, and now she taught all she knew toGaud. The work took a great deal of wool; for it had to be a largejersey to fit Yann. 

But soon, especially in the evenings, the shortening of the days couldbe perceived. Some plants, which had put forth all their blossoms inJuly, began to look yellow and dying, and the violet scabious by thewayside bloomed for the second time, smaller now, and longer-stalked;the last days of August drew nigh, and the first return-ship fromIceland hove in sight one evening at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast ofthe returners began. 

Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to welcome it. Which one wasit?

It was the _Samuel-Azenide_, always the first to return. 

"Surely, " said Yann's old father, "the _Leopoldine_ won't be long now; Iknow how 'tis out yonder: when one of 'em begins to start homeward, theothers can't hang back in any peace. "

CHAPTER III--ALL BUT TWO

The Icelanders were all returning now. Two ships came in the second day, four the next, and twelve during the following week. And, all throughthe country, joy returned with them, and there was happiness for thewives and mothers; and junkets in the taverns where the beautifulbarmaids of Paimpol served out drink to the fishers. 

The _Leopoldine_ was among the belated; there were yet another tenexpected. They would not be long now, and allowing a week's delay so asnot to be disappointed, Gaud waited in happy, passionate joy for Yann, keeping their home bright and tidy for his return. When everything wasin good order there was nothing left for her to do, and besides shecould think of nothing else but her husband in her impatience. 

Three more ships appeared; then another five. There were only twolacking now. 

"Come, come, " they said to her cheerily, "this year the _Leopoldine_ andthe _Marie-Jeanne_ will be the last, to pick up all the brooms fallenoverboard from the other craft. "

Gaud laughed also. She was more animated and beautiful than ever, in hergreat joy of expectancy. 

CHAPTER IV--STILL AT SEA

But the days succeeded one another without result. She still dressedherself every day, and with a joyful look, went down to the harbour togossip with the other wives. She said that this delay was but natural;was it not the same event every year? These were such safe boats, andhad such capital sailors. 

But when at home alone, at night, a nervous, anxious shiver of anguishwould run through her whole frame. 

Was it right to be frightened already? Was there even a single reasonto be so? But she began to tremble at the mere idea of grounds for beingafraid. 

CHAPTER V--SHARING THE DREAD

The tenth of September came. How swiftly the days flew by!

One morning, a true autumn morning, with cold mist falling over theearth, in the rising sun, she sat under the porch of the chapel of theshipwrecked mariners, where the widows go to pray, with eyes fixed andglassy, throbbing temples tightened as by an iron hand. 

These sad morning mists had begun two days before, and on thisparticular day Gaud had awakened with a still more bitter uneasiness, caused by the forecast of advancing winter. Why did this day, this hour, this very moment, seem to her more painful than the preceding? Oftenships are delayed a fortnight, even a month, for that matter. 

But surely there was something different about this particular morning, for she had come to-day for the first time to sit in the porch of thischapel and read the names of the dead sailors, perished in their prime. 

"In memory of GAOS, YVON, Lost at sea Near the Norden-Fjord. "

Like a great shudder, a gust of wind rose from the sea, and at the sametime something fell like rain upon the roof above. It was only the deadleaves though; many were blown in at the porch; the old wind-tossedtrees of the graveyard were losing their foliage in this rising gale, and winter was marching nearer. 

"Lost at sea, Near the Norden-Fjord, In the storm of the 4th and 5th ofAugust, 1880. "

She read mechanically under the arch of the doorway; her eyes sought topierce the distance over the sea. That morning it was untraceable underthe gray mist, and a dragging drapery of clouds overhung the horizonlike a mourning veil. 

Another gust of wind, and other leaves danced in in whirls. A strongergust still, as if the western storm that had strewn those dead over thesea, wished to deface the very inscriptions that remembered their namesto the living. 

Gaud looked with involuntary persistency at an empty space upon the wallthat seemed to yawn expectant. By a terrible impression she was pursued, the thought of a fresh slab which might soon, perhaps, be placed there, with another name which she did not even dare to think of in such aspot. 

She felt cold, and remained seated on the granite bench, her headreclining against the stone wall. 

* * * * *

. . . "near the Norden-Fjord, In the storm of the 4th and 5th ofAugust, At the age of 23 years, _Requiescat in pace_!"

Then Iceland loomed up before her, with its little cemetery lighted upfrom below the sea-line by the midnight sun. Suddenly in the same emptyspace on the wall, with horrifying clearness she saw the fresh slab shewas thinking of; a clear white one, with a skull and cross-bones, and ina flash of foresight, a name--the worshipped name of "Yann Gaos!" Thenshe suddenly and fearfully drew herself up straight and stiff, with ahoarse, wild cry in her throat like a mad creature. 

Outside the gray mist of the dawn fell over the land, and the deadleaves were again blown dancingly into the porch. 

Steps on the footpath? Somebody was coming? She rose and quicklysmoothed down her cap and composed her face. Nearer drew the steps. Sheassumed the air of one who might be there by chance; for, above all, shedid not wish to appear yet, like the widow of a shipwrecked mariner. 

It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of the second mate of the_Leopoldine_. She understood immediately what Gaud was doing there; itwas useless to dissemble with her. At first each woman stood speechlessbefore the other. They were angry and almost hated each other for havingmet with a like sentiment of apprehension. 

"All the men of Treguier and Saint Brieuc have been back this week, "said Fante at last, in a pitiless, muffled, half-irritated voice. 

She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to offer up a prayer. Gaud didnot wish yet to resort to that extreme resource of despairing wives. Yet silently she entered the chapel behind Fante, and they knelt downtogether side by side, like two sisters. 

To the "Star of the Sea" they offered ardent imploring prayers, withtheir whole soul in them. A sound of sobbing was alone heard, as theirrapid tears swiftly fell upon the floor. They rose together, moreconfident and softened. Fante held up Gaud, who staggered, and takingher in her arms, kissed her. 

Wiping their eyes, and smoothing their dishevelled hair, they brushedoff the salt dust from the flagstones, soiling their gowns, and theywent away in opposite directions, without another word. 

CHAPTER VI--ALL BUT ONE

This end of September was like another summer, only a little lesslively. The weather was so beautiful, that had it not been for the deadleaves that fell upon the roads, one might have thought that Junehad come back again. Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, andeverywhere was the joy of a second spring-time of love. 

At last, one day, one of the missing ships was signalled. Which one wasit?

The groups of speechless and anxious women had rapidly formed on thecliff. Gaud, pale and trembling, was there, by the side of her Yann'sfather. 

"I'm almost sure, " said the old fisher, "I'm almost sure it's them! Ared rail and a topsail that clews up--it's very like them anyhow. Whatdo you make it, Gaud?

"No, it isn't, " he went on, with sudden discouragement; "we've madea mistake again, the boom isn't the same, and ours has a jigger sail. Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only the _Marie-Jeanne_. Never mind, my lass, surely they'll not be long now. "

But day followed day, and night succeeded night, with uninterruptedserenity. 

Gaud continued to dress every day like a poor crazed woman, alwaysin fear of being taken for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feelingexasperated when others looked furtively and compassionately at her, andglancing aside so that she might not meet those glances that froze hervery blood. 

She had fallen into the habit of going in the early morning right tothe end of the headland, on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behindYann's old home, so as not to be seen by his mother or little sisters. She went to the extreme point of the Ploubazlanec land, which isoutlined in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray waters of thechannel, and sat there all day long at the foot of the lonely cross, which rises high above the immense waste of the ocean. There are many ofthese crosses hereabout; they are set up on the most advanced cliffsof the seabound land, as if to implore mercy and to calm that restlessmysterious power that draws men away, never to give them back, and inpreference retains the bravest and noblest. 

Around this cross stretches the ever-green waste, strewn with shortrushes. At this great height the sea air was very pure; it scarcelyretained the briny odour of the weeds, but was perfumed with all theexquisite ripeness of September flowers. 

Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast were firmly outlined, rising one above another; the land of Brittany terminated in raggededges, which spread out far into the tranquil surface. 

Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but out beyond nothing broke itspolished mirror, from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light andintensified from the depths of its many bays. Its horizon seemed socalm, and its depths so soft! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoseshid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes, faint as human breath, wafted to and fro the perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomedagain in the lastest autumn sun. 

At regular hours the sea retreated, and great spaces were left uncoveredeverywhere, as if the Channel was slowly drying up; then with the samelazy slowness, the waters rose again, and continued their everlastingcoming and going, without any heed of the dead. 

At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, surrounded by these tranquilmysteries, gazing ever before her, until the night fell and she couldsee no more. 

CHAPTER VII--THE MOURNER'S VISION

September had passed. The sorrowing wife took scarcely any nourishment, and could no longer sleep. She remained at home now, crouching low withher hands between her knees, her head thrown back and resting againstthe wall behind. What was the good of getting up or going to bed now?When she was thoroughly exhausted she threw herself, dressed, upon herbed. Otherwise she remained in the same position, chilled and benumbed;in her quiescent state, only her teeth chattered with the cold; she hadthat continual impression of a band of iron round her brows; her cheekslooked wasted; her mouth was dry, with a feverish taste, and at timesa painful hoarse cry rose from her throat, and was repeated in spasms, while her head beat backward against the granite wall. Or else shecalled Yann by his name in a low, tender voice, as if he were quietclose to her, whispering words of love to her. 

Sometimes she occupied her brain with thoughts of quite insignificantthings; for instance, she amused herself by watching the shadow of thechina Virgin lengthen slowly over the high woodwork of the bed, as thesun went down. And then the agonized thoughts returned more horrible, and her wailing cry broke out again as she beat her head against thewall. 

All the hours of the day passed, and all the hours of evening, and ofnight, and then the hours of the morning. When she reckoned the time heought to have been back, she was seized with a still greater terror; shewished to forget all dates and the very names of the days. 

Usually there is some information concerning the wrecks off Iceland;those who return have seen the tragedy from afar, or else have foundsome wreckage or bodies, or have an indication to guess the rest. Butof the _Leopoldine_ nothing had been seen, and nothing was known. The_Marie-Jeanne_ men, the last to have seen her, on the 2d of August, saidthat she was to have gone on fishing farther towards the north, and, beyond that, the secret was unfathomable. 

Waiting, always waiting, and knowing nothing! When would the time comewhen she need wait no longer? She did not even know that; and, now, shealmost wished that it might be soon. 

Oh! if he were dead; let them at least have pity enough to tell her so!Oh! to see her darling, as he was at this very moment, that is, what wasleft him! If only the much-implored Virgin, or some other power, woulddo her the blessing to show her, by second-sight, her beloved! eitherliving and working hard to return a rich man, or else as a corpse, surrendered by the sea, so that she might at least know a certainty. 

Sometimes she was seized with the thought of a ship appearing suddenlyupon the horizon; the _Leopoldine_ hastening home. Then she wouldsuddenly make an irreflected movement to rise, and rush to look out atthe ocean, to see whether it were true. 

But she would fall back. Alas! where was this _Leopoldine_ now? Wherecould she be? Out afar, at that awful distance of Iceland, forsaken, crushed, and lost. 

All ended by a never-fading vision appearing to her--an empty, sea-tossed wreck, slowly and gently rocked by the silent gray androse-streaked sea; almost with soft mockery, in the midst of the vastcalm of deadened waters. 

CHAPTER VIII--THE FALSE ALARM

Two o'clock in the morning. 

It was at night, especially, that she kept attentive to approachingfootsteps; at the slightest rumour or unaccustomed noise her templesvibrated; by dint of being strained to outward things, they had becomefearfully sensitive. 

Two o'clock in the morning. On this night as on others, with her handsclasped and her eyes wide open in the dark, she listened to the wind, sweeping in never-ending tumult over the heath. 

Suddenly a man's footsteps hurried along the path! At this hour whowould pass now? She drew herself up, stirred to the very soul, her heartceasing to beat. 

Some one stopped before the door, and came up the small stone steps. 

He!--O God!--he! Some one had knocked--it could be no other than he! Shewas up now, barefooted; she, so feeble for the last few days, had sprungup as nimbly as a kitten, with her arms outstretched to wind round herdarling. Of course the _Leopoldine_ had arrived at night, and anchoredin Pors-Even Bay, and he had rushed home; she arranged all this in hermind with the swiftness of lightning. She tore the flesh off her fingersin her excitement to draw the bolt, which had stuck. 

"Eh?"

She slowly moved backward, as if crushed, her head falling on her bosom. Her beautiful insane dream was over. She just could grasp that it wasnot her husband, her Yann, and that nothing of him, substantial orspiritual, had passed through the air; she felt plunged again into herdeep abyss, to the lowest depths of her terrible despair. 

Poor Fantec, for it was he, stammered many excuses, his wife was veryill, and their child was stifling in its cot, suddenly attacked with amalignant sore throat; so he had run over to beg for assistance on theroad to fetch the doctor from Paimpol. 

What did all this matter to her? She had gone mad in her own distress, and could give no thoughts to the troubles of others. Huddled on abench, she remained before him with fixed, glazed eyes, like a deadwoman's; without listening to him or even answering at random or lookingat him. What to her was the speech the man was making?

He understood it all; and guessed why the door had been opened soquickly to him, and feeling pity for the pain he had unwittingly caused, he stammered out an excuse. 

"Just so; he never had ought to have disturbed her--her in particular. "

"I!" ejaculated Gaud, quickly, "why should I not be disturbedparticularly, Fantec?"

Life had suddenly come back to her; for she did not wish to appearin despair before others. Besides, she pitied him now; she dressed toaccompany him, and found the strength to go and see to his little child. 

At four o'clock in the morning, when she returned to throw herself onthe bed, sleep subdued her, for she was tired out. But that moment ofexcessive joy had left an impression on her mind, which, in spite ofall, was permanent; she awoke soon with a shudder, rising a littleand partially recollecting--she knew not what. News had come to herconcerning her Yann. In the midst of her confusion of ideas, shesought rapidly in her mind what it could be, but there was nothing saveFantec's interruption. 

For the second time she fell back into her terrible abyss, nothingchanged in her morbid, hopeless waiting. 

Yet in that short, hopeful moment she had felt him so near to her, that it was as if his spirit had floated over the sea unto her, what iscalled a foretoken (_pressigne_) in Breton land; and she listened stillmore attentively to the steps outside, trusting that some one might cometo her to speak of him. 

Just as the day broke Yann's father entered. He took off his cap, andpushed back his splendid white locks, which were in curls like Yann's, and sat down by Gaud's bedside. 

His heart ached fully, too, for Yann, his tall, handsome Yann, was hisfirst-born, his favourite and his pride; but he did not despair yet. Hecomforted Gaud in his own blunt, affectionate way; to begin with, thosewho had last returned from Iceland spoke of the increasing dense fogsthat might well have delayed the vessel; and then, too, an idea struckhim; they might possibly have stopped at the distant Faroe Islands ontheir homeward course, whence letters were so long in travelling. Thishad happened to him once forty years ago, and his own poor dead and gonemother had had a mass said for his soul. The _Leopoldine_ was such agood boat, next to new, and her crew were such able-bodied seamen. 

Granny Moan stood by them shaking her head; the distress of hergranddaughter had almost given her back her own strength and reason; shetidied up the place, glancing from time to time at the faded portrait ofSylvestre, which hung upon the granite wall with its anchor emblems andmourning-wreath of black bead-work. Ever since the sea had robbed her ofher own last offspring she believed no longer in safe returns; she onlyprayed through fear, bearing Heaven a grudge in the bottom of her heart. 

But Gaud listened eagerly to these consoling reasonings; her largesunken eyes looked with deep tenderness out upon this old sire, who somuch resembled her beloved one; merely to have him near her was likea hostage against death having taken the younger Gaos; and she feltreassured, nearer to her Yann. Her tears fell softly and silently, andshe repeated again her passionate prayers to the "Star of the Sea. "

A delay out at those islands to repair damages was a very likely event. She rose and brushed her hair, and then dressed as if she might fairlyexpect him. All then was not lost, if a seaman, his own father, did notyet despair. And for a few days, she resumed looking out for him again. 

Autumn at last arrived, a late autumn too, its gloomy evenings makingall things appear dark in the old cottage, and all the land lookedsombre, too. 

The very daylight seemed crepuscular; immeasurable clouds, passingslowly overhead, darkened the whole country at broad noon. The wind blewconstantly with the sound of a great cathedral organ at a distance, butplaying profane, despairing dirges; at other times the noise came closeto the door, like the howling of wild beasts. 

She had grown pale, aye, blanched, and bent more than ever, as if oldage had already touched her with its featherless wing. Often did shefinger the wedding clothes of her Yann, folding and unfolding them againand again like some maniac, especially one of his blue woolen jerseys, which still had preserved his shape; when she threw it gently on thetable, it fell with the shoulders and chest well defined; so she placedit by itself on a shelf of their wardrobe, and left it there, so that itmight for ever rest unaltered. 

Every night the cold mists sank upon the land, as she gazed over thedepressing heath through her little window, and watched the paltry puffsof white smoke arise from the chimneys of other cottages scattered hereand there on all sides. There the husbands had returned, like wanderingbirds driven home by the frost. Before their blazing hearths theevenings passed, cosy and warm; for the spring-time of love had begunagain in this land of North Sea fishermen. 

Still clinging to the thought of those islands where he might perhapshave lingered, she was buoyed up by a kind hope and expected him homeany day. 

CHAPTER IX--WEDDED TO THE SEA

But he never returned. One August night, out off gloomy Iceland, mingledwith the furious clamour of the sea, his wedding with the sea wasperformed. It had been his nurse; it had rocked him in his babyhood, andhad afterward made him big and strong; then, in his superb manhood, it had taken him back again for itself alone. Profoundest mystery hadsurrounded this unhallowed union. While it went on, dark curtains hungpall-like over it as if to conceal the ceremony, and the ghoul howled inan awful deafening voice to stifle his cries. He, thinking of Gaud, hissole, darling wife, had battled with giant strength against this deathlyrival, until he at last surrendered, with a deep death-cry like the roarof a dying bull, through a mouth already filled with water; and his armswere stretched apart and stiffened for ever. 

All those he had invited in days of old were present at his wedding. Allexcept Sylvestre, who had gone to sleep in the enchanted gardens far, far away, at the other side of the earth.