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 Februarytwilight, which fell over the sea-beaten land, strewn with eel-grassand stones. There was no branch of verdure above their heads or aroundthem; nothing but the immense sky, over which passed the slowlywandering mists. And their flowers were brown sea-weeds, drawn up fromthe beach by the fishers, 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, thegloaming was often laden with invisible icy rain, which fell upontheir shoulders as they sat together. But they remained there, feelingwarm and happy. The bench, which was more than a hundred years old,did not seem in the least surprised at their love, having seen manyother pairs in its time; it had listened to many soft words, which arealways the same on the lips of the young, from generation togeneration; and it had become used to seeing lovers sit upon it again,when they returned to it old and trembling; but in the broad day, thistime, to warm themselves in the last sun they would see.

　　From time to time Granny Moan would put her head out at the door tohave a look at them, and try t............