She had been walking for the last hour, lightly yet oppressed,inhaling the healthy open breeze whistling up the roads to where theycrossed and /Calvaires/ were erected, ghastly highway ornaments of ourSaviour on His 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 colour ofthe rocks. In one of these hamlets, where the path narrows suddenlybetween dark walls, and between the whitewashed roofs, high andpointed like Celtic huts, a tavern sign-board made her smile. It was"The Chinese Cider Cellars." On it were painted two grotesque figures,dressed in green and pink robes, with pigtails, drinking cider. Nodoubt the whim of some old sailor who had been in China. She saw allon her way; people who are greatly engrossed in the object of ajourney always find more amusement than others in its thousanddetails.

　　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 heathswith their green reeds, and here and there the consecrated crossesrose, their outstretched arms outlined against the sky, giving thewhole country 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. Gaudkissed her 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 thinkhe'll be 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 asto give 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 thehigh sea-line. Pilots or fishers, seeming to watch the great sea, inpassing her wished her good-day. Broad sun-burnt faces were theirs,manly and determined 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 walkso slowly.

　　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!

　　He had simply gone to Loguivy to give an order to a basket-maker, whowas the only one in the country knowing how to weave lobster pots. Hismind was very free from love just now.

　　She passed a chapel, at such a height it could be seen remotely. Itwas a little gray old chapel in the midst of the barren. A clump oftrees, gray too, and almost leafless, seemed like hair to it, pushedby some invisible 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 thecoast trees in the direction of the waves and of the off-sea breezes.

　　The old trees had grown awry and dishevelled, bending their backsunder the time-honoured strength of that hand.

　　Gaud was almost at the end of her walk, as the chapel in sight wasthat of 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; thewhole spot seemed faded and eaten into by the sea-wind; the stones,the knotty branches, and the granite saints, placed in the wallniches, were covered 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 shestopped again with a sharp pain at her heart. "Gaos"--again that name,engraved upon one of the slabs erected in memory of those who die atsea.

　　She read this inscription:

　　"To the Memory ofGAOS, JEAN-LOUIS,Aged 24 years; seaman on board the /Marguerite/.

　　Disappeared off Iceland, August 3d, 1877.

　　May he rest in peace!"Iceland--always Iceland! All over the porch were wooden slabs bearingthe names of dead sailors. It was the place reserved for theshipwrecked of Pors-Even. Filled with a dark foreboding she was sorryto have gone there.

　　In Paimpol church she had seen many such inscriptions; but in thisvillage the empty tomb of the Iceland fishers seemed more sad becauseso lone 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 ofGAOS, FRANCOIS,Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster,Captain on board the /Paimpolais/,Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and 3d of May, 1877,With the twenty-three men of his crew.

　　May they rest in peace!"And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black skull with greeneyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, reminding one of all the barbarismof a 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 shetear him from the sea where so many other Gaoses had gone down,ancestors and brothers, who must have loved the sea like he! Sheentered the chapel. It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows withheavy frames. And there, her heart full of tears that would betterhave fallen, she knelt to pray before the colossal saints, surroundedby common flowers, touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads.

　　Outside, the rising wind began to sob as if it brought the death-gaspsof the drowned men back to their Fatherland.

　　Night drew near; she rose and went on her way. After having asked inthe village, she found the home............