gain, the boom isn't the same, and ours has a jigger sail.
Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only the _Marie-Jeanne_.
Never mind, my lass, surely they'll not be long now."

But day followed day, and night succeeded night, with uninterrupted
serenity.

Gaud continued to dress every day like a poor crazed woman, always
in fear of being taken for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feeling
exasperated when others looked furtively and compassionately at her, and
glancing aside so that she might not meet those glances that froze her
very blood.

She had fallen into the habit of going in the early morning right to
the end of the headland, on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passing behind
Yann's old home, so as not to be seen by his mother or little sisters.
She went to the extreme point of the Ploubazlanec land, which is
outlined in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray waters of the
channel, and sat there all day long at the foot of the lonely cross,
which rises high above the immense waste of the ocean. There are many of
these crosses hereabout; they are set up on the most advanced cliffs
of the seabound land, as if to implore mercy and to calm that restless
mysterious power that draws men away, never to give them back, and in
preference retains the bravest and noblest.

Around this cross stretches the ever-green waste, strewn with short
rushes. At this great height the sea air was very pure; it scarcely
retained the briny odour of the weeds, but was perfumed with all the
exquisite ripeness of September flowers.

Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast were firmly outlined,
rising one above another; the land of Brittany terminated in ragged
edges, which spread out far into the tranquil surface.

Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but out beyond nothing broke its
polished mirror, from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light and
intensified from the depths of its many bays. Its horizon seemed so
calm, and its depths so soft! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoses
hid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes, faint as human breath,
wafted to and fro the perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed
again in the lastest autumn sun.

At regular hours the sea retreated, and great spaces were left uncovered
everywhere, as if the Channel was slowly drying up; then with the same
lazy slowness, the waters rose again, and continued their everlasting
coming and going, without any heed of the d