ry morning of the holiday, though the streets were already
draped in white and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had fallen
in torrents, brought from the west by a soughing wind; never had so
black a sky shadowed Paimpol. "What a pity! the boys won't come over
from Ploubazlanec now," had moaned the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt
there. And they did not come, or else had gone straight into the taverns
to drink together.

There had been no processions or strolls, and she, with her heart aching
more than ever, had remained at her window the whole evening listening
to the water streaming over the roofs, and the fishers' noisy songs
rising and falling out of the depths of the taverns.

For the last few days she had been expecting this visit, surmising truly
that old Gaos would send his son to terminate the business concerning
the sale of the boat, as he did not care to come into Paimpol himself.
She determined then that she would go straight to him, and, unlike other
girls, speak out frankly, to have her conscience clear on the subject.
She would reproach him with having sought her out and having abandoned
her like a man without honour. If it were only stubbornness, timidity,
his great love for his sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, as
Sylvestre had hinted, why, all these objections would disappear, after
a frank, fair understanding between them. His fond smile might return,
which had charmed and won her the winter before, and all would be
settled. This hope gave her strength and courage, and sweetened her
impatience. From afar, things always appear so easy and simple to say
and to do.

This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a convenient hour. She was sure
that her father, who was sitting and smoking, would not get up to walk
part of the way with him; so in the empty passage she might have her
explanation out with him.

But now that the time had come, such boldness seemed extreme. The bare
idea of looking him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made her
tremble; and her heart beat as if it would break. At any moment the door
below might open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let him out!

"No, no, she never would dare; rather would she die of longing and
sorrow, than attempt such an act." She already made a few return steps
towards the back of her room, to regain her seat and work. But she
stopped again, hesitating and afraid, remembering that to-morrow was the
sailing day for Iceland, and th