and fishers alike, seems to
be endless), and owed him a hundred francs for the sale of a boat, which
had 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 in
Ploubazlanec, 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 and
village.

In one of their last chats, before his departure, Sylvestre had
explained 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 his
idea; he only loves the sea, and one day even, in fun, he said he had
promised to be wedded to it."

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

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, inhaling
the healthy open breeze whistling up the roads to where they crossed and
_Calvaires_ were erected, ghastly highway ornaments of our Saviour on
His cross, to which Bretons are given.

From time to time she passed through small fishing villages, which are
beaten about by the winds the whole year through till of the colour
of the rocks. In one of these hamlets, where the path narrows suddenly
between dark walls, and between the whitewashed roofs, high and pointed
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. No doubt
the whim of some old sailor who had been in China. She saw all on her
way; people who are greatly engrossed in the object of a journey always
find more amusement than others in its thousand details.

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

The ground was undulating and rocky, and from all the heights the open
sea could be seen. No more trees now; nothing but the shorn heaths with
their green reeds, and here and there the consecrated crosses r