Slowly the winter drew nigh, and spread over all like a shroudleisurely drawn. Gray days followed one another, but Yann appeared nomore, and the two women lived on in their loneliness. With the cold,their daily existence became harder and more expensive.

　　Old Yvonne was difficult to tend, too; her poor mind was going. Shegot into fits of temper now, and spoke wicked, insulting speeches onceor twice every week; it took her so, like a child, about merenothings.

　　Poor old granny! She was still so sweet in her lucid days, that Gauddid not cease to respect and cherish her. To have always been so goodand to end by being bad, and show towards the close a depth of maliceand spitefulness that had slumbered during her whole life, to use awhole vocabulary of coarse words that she had hidden; what mockery ofthe soul! what a derisive mystery! She began to sing, too, which wasstill more painful to hear than her angry words, for she mixedeverything up together--the /oremus/ of a mass with refrains of loosesongs heard in the harbour from wandering sailors. Sometimes she sang"/Les Fillettes de Paimpol/" (The Lasses of Paimpol), or, nodding herhead and beating time with her foot, she would mutter:

　　"Mon mari vient de partir;Pour la peche d'Islande, mon mari vient de partir,Il m'a laissee sans le sou,Mais--trala, trala la lou,J'en gagne, j'en gagne."(My husband went off sailingUpon the Iceland cruise,But never left me money,Not e'en a couple sous.

　　But--ri too loo! ri tooral loo!

　　I know what 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'ye see, I've so many of them, that now I can't remember theirnames!"So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled hands, with a careless,almost contemptuous toss. But the next day she remembered him quitewell; mentioning several things he had said or done, and that wholeday long she wept.

　　Oh! those long winter evenings when there was not enough wood fortheir fire; to work in the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewinghard to finish 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 beneathher apron. But at the beginning of the evening, Gaud always had totalk to her 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 seemso lonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit."So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had heard in town, or spoke ofthe people she had met on her way home, talking of things that werequite indifferent to her, as indeed all things were now; and stoppingin the midst of her stories when she saw the poor old woman wasfalling 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, andthe roar of the waves could be hear............