nd the man telling the tale had hurriedly
ended to go and see to his smack.

Then another went on: "When I was bo's'n's mate aboard of the _Zenobie_,
a-lying at Aden, and a-doing the duty of a corporal of marines, by the
same token, you ought to ha' seen the ostridge feather traders a-trying
to scramble up over the side. [_Imitating the broken talk_] 'Bon-joo,
cap'n! we're not thiefs--we're honest merchants'--Honest, my eye! with a
sweep of the bucket, a purtending to draw some water up, I sent 'em all
flying back an oar's length. 'Honest merchants, are ye,' says I, 'then
send us up a bunch of honest feathers first--with a hard dollar or two
in the core of it, d'ye see, and then I'll believe in your honesty!'
Why, I could ha' made my fortun' out of them beggars, if I hadn't been
born and brought up honest myself, and but a sucking-dove in wisdom,
saying nothing of my having a sweetheart at Toulon in the millinery
line, who could have used any quantity of feathers----"

Ha! here's one of Yann's little brothers, a future Iceland fisherman,
with a fresh pink face and bright eyes, who is suddenly taken ill from
having drunk too much cider. So little Laumec has to be carried off,
which cuts short the story of the milliner and the feathers.

The wind wailed in the chimney like an evil spirit in torment; with
fearful strength, it shook the whole house on its stone foundation.

"It strikes me the wind is stirred up, acos we're enjoying of
ourselves," said the pilot cousin.

"No, it's the sea that's wrathy," corrected Yann, smiling at Gaud,
"because I'd promised I'd be wedded to _her_."

A strange languor seemed to envelop them both; they spoke to one another
in a low voice, apart, in the midst of the general gaiety. Yann, knowing
thoroughly the effect of wine, did not drink at all. Now and then he
turned dull too, thinking of Sylvestre. It was an understood thing that
there was to be no dancing, on account of him and of Gaud's dead father.

It was the dessert now; the singing would soon begin. But first there
were the prayers to say, for the dead of the family; this form is never
omitted, at all wedding-feasts, and is a solemn duty. So when old Gaos
rose and uncovered his white head, there was a dead silence around.

"This," said he, "is for Guillaume Gaos, my father." Making the sign of
the cross, he began the Lord's prayer in Latin: "_Pater noster, qui es
in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tumm_----"

The silence include