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 up 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 which froze
her very blood.

She had fallen into the habit of going at 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 sea-bound land, as if to implore mercy, and to calm that
restless mysterious power which draws men away, never to give them
back, and in preference retains the bravest and noblest.

Around this cross stretches the evergreen waste, strewn with short
rushes. At this great height the sea air was very pure; it scarcely
retained the briny odor 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 jagged
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; whilst the breezes, faint as human breath,
wafted to and fro the perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomed
again in the latest 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 without any heed of the dead.

At the foot of the cross Gaud remained, surrounded by these tranquil
mys