er at
the hotel, but had got in fresh fish, lobsters, chickens, eggs, and
other necessaries; and all was ready for a meal which could be got in an
hour.

Jacques had now his hour of happiness. He knew not of these morals--they
were beyond him; but after a cheerful dinner in the pavilion, with an
omelette made by Andree herself, Annette went to her room and cried
herself to sleep. She was civilised, poor soul, and here they were
a stone's throw from the cure and the church! Gaston and Andree,
refreshed, travelled down the long steps to the village, over the place,
along the quay, to the lighthouse and the beach, through crowds of
sardine fishers and simple hard-tongued Bretons. Cheerful, buoyant at
dinner, there now came upon the girl an intense quiet and fatigue. She
stood and looked long at the sea. Gaston tried to rouse her.

"This is your native Brittany, Andree," he said. She pointed far over
the sea:

"Near that light at Penmark I was born."

"Can you speak the Breton language?"

"Far worse than you speak Parisian French."

He laughed. "You are so little like these people!"

She had vanity. That had been part of her life. Her beauty had brought
trade when she was a gipsy; she had been the admired of Paris: she was
only twenty three. Presently she became restless, and shrank from him.
Her eyes had a flitting hunted look. Once they met his with a wild
sort of pleading or revolt, he could not tell which, and then were
continually turned away.

If either could have known how hard the little dwarf of sense and memory
was trying to tell her something.

This new phase stunned him. What did it mean? He touched her hand.
It was hot, and withdrew from his. He put his arm around her, and she
shivered, cringed. But then she was a woman, he thought. He had met one
unlike any he had ever known. He would wait. He would be patient. Would
she come--home? She turned passively and took his arm. He talked, but he
knew he was talking poorly, and at last he became silent also. But when
they came to the steep steps leading to the chateau, he lifted her in
his arms, carried her to the house, and left her at their chamber-door.

Then he went to the pavilion to smoke. He had no wish to think--at
least of anything but the girl. It was not a time for retrospect, but
to accept a situation. The die had been cast. He had followed what--his
nature, his instincts? The consequence?

He heard Andree's voice. He went to her.

The next