en
eyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism of
a bygone age.

"Gaos, Gaos!" The name was everywhere. As she read, thrills of sweet
tenderness came over her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a
feeling of hopelessness. Nay, he would never be hers! How could she tear
him from the sea where so many other Gaoses had gone down, ancestors and
brothers, who must have loved the sea like he! She entered the chapel.
It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy frames. And
there, her heart full of tears that would better have fallen, she
knelt to pray before the colossal saints, surrounded by common flowers,
touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads. Outside, the rising
wind began to sob as if it brought the death-gasps of the drowned men
back to their Fatherland.

Night drew near; she rose and went on her way. After having asked in
the village, she found the home of the Gaos family, which was built up
against a high cliff. A dozen granite steps led up to it. Trembling a
little at the thought that Yann might have returned, she crossed the
small garden where chrysanthemums and veronicas grew.

When she was indoors, she explained she had come to bring the money for
the boat, and they very politely asked her to sit down, to await the
father's return, as he was the one to sign the receipt for her. Amidst
all, her eyes searched for Yann--but did not see him.

They were very busy in the home. Already they were cutting out the new
waterproof cloth on the clean white table, and getting it ready for the
approaching Iceland season.

"You see, Mademoiselle Gaud, it's like this: every man wants two new
suits."

They explained to her how they set to work to make them, and to render
their seams waterproof with tar, for they were for wet weather wear.
And while they worked, Gaud looked attentively around the home of these
Gaoses.

It was furnished after the traditional manner of all Breton cottages;
an immense chimney-place took up one whole end, and on the sides of the
walls the Breton beds, bunks, as on shipboard, were placed one above
another. But it was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of other
peasants, which are generally half-hidden by the wayside; it was all
fresh and clean, as the homes of seamen usually are. Several little
Gaoses were there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of Yann;
without counting two big ones, who were already out at sea. And,
besides, there w