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 concernedher grandson, but that did not frighten her in the least. The familiesof seafarers are used to the Naval Registry, and she, the daughter,wife, mother, and grandmother of seamen, had known that office for thepast sixty 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.

　　As she knew what respect was due to "/Monsieur le Commissaire/," sheput on her best gown and a clean white cap, and set out about twoo'clock.

　　Trotting along swiftly on the pathways of the cliff, she nearedPaimpol; and musing upon these two months without letters, she grew abit anxious.

　　She met her old sweetheart sitting out at his door. He had greatlyaged since 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 mossyroofs, sprang the flowerets that attracted the first "miller"butterflies of the 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 theirblue or brown eyes. The young men, who were the objects of theirmelancholy and desires, were remote, fishing on the northern seas.

　　But it was a spring-time for all that--warm, sweet, and troubling,with its 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; she wastaking that sinister walk that Sylvestre had divined at his death-hour--the sight of that had torn his last agonized tears from him; hisdarling 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. Andthat apparition had made him toss and writhe in fearful anguish, whilethe huge, red sun of the Equator, disappearing in its glory, peeredthrough the port-hole of the hospital to watch him die. But he, in hislast hallucination, had seen his old granny moving under a rain-ladensky, and on the contrary a joyous laughing spring-time mocked her onall sides.

　　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 injust then. One ugly little creature, about fifteen years old, who washis clerk, sat at his desk. As he was too puny to be a............