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Updated: August 25, 2024
A child happening to pass, came to her rescue: "Good-day, Mademoiselle Gaud!" It was one of the little Gaoses, one of Yann's wee sisters. Gaud kissed her and asked her if her parents were at home. "Father and mother are, yes. But brother Yann," said the little one, without intent, of course, "has gone to Loguivy; but I don't think he'll be very late home again." So he was not there?
This is for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked aboard the Zelie." When all the dead Gaoses had had their prayers, he turned towards grandmother Moan, saying, "This one is for Sylvestre Moan." Yann wept as he recited another prayer. "Sed libera nos a malo. Amen!" Then the songs began; sea-songs learned in the navy, on the forecastle, where we all know there are rare good vocalists.
But it was not so sombre and sad as the cabins of other peasants, which are generally half-hidden by the wayside; it was all fresh and clean, as the homes of seamen usually are. Several little Gaoses were there, girls and boys, all sisters and brothers of Yann; without counting two big ones, who were already out at sea. And, besides, there was a little fair girl, neat, but sad, unlike the others.
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