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Updated: May 14, 2025
In front of them a barren plain studded with clumps of trees led to the wood, to the little wood which had seemed to them to resemble the one at Kermarivan. Grainfields and hayfields bordered the narrow path, which lost itself in the young greenness of the crops, and Jean Kerderen would always say to Luc le Ganidec: "It looks like it does near Plounivon." "Yes; exactly."
As soon as they reached the first clump of trees, Luc Le Ganidec would cut off a small stick, and, whittling it slowly, would walk on, thinking of the folks at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions. From time to time Luc would mention a name, or allude to some boyish prank which would give them food for plenty of thought.
As soon as they reached the first clump of trees, Luc Le Ganidec would cut off a small stick, and, whittling it slowly, would walk on, thinking of the folks at home. Jean Kerderen carried the provisions. From time to time Luc would mention a name, or allude to some boyish prank which would give them food for plenty of thought.
Before them was a plain with a few clumps of trees, which led to the woods, a little forest which seemed to remind them of that other forest at Kermarivan. The wheat and oat fields bordered on the narrow path, and Jean Kerderen said each time to Luc Le Ganidec: "It's just like home, just like Plounivon." "Yes, it's just like home."
When he set off with Jean on their Sunday walk his manner was very queer, quite restless, and quite changed. Kerderen did not understand, but he vaguely suspected something without divining what it could be. They did not say a word to one another until they reached their usual halting-place, where, from their constant sitting in the same spot the grass was quite worn away.
They were walking slowly, Luc Le Ganidec and Jean Kerderen, contented and sad, haunted by a sweet sorrow, the slow and penetrating sorrow of a captive animal which remembers the days of its freedom. And when Luc had finished whittling his stick, they came to a little nook, where every Sunday they took their meal.
Before them was a plain with a few clumps of trees, which led to the woods, a little forest which seemed to remind them of that other forest at Kermarivan. The wheat and oat fields bordered on the narrow path, and Jean Kerderen said each time to Luc Le Ganidec: "It's just like home, just like Plounivon." "Yes, it's just like home."
And the sails of the boats from the river banks seemed like the white wings of the coasting vessels seen beyond the great plain which extended from their homes to the very margin of the sea. They walked with short steps, Luc le Ganidec and Jean Kerderen, content and sad, haunted by a sweet melancholy, by the lingering, ever-present sorrow of a caged animal who remembers his liberty.
The following Friday, Luc borrowed ten sous from one of his friends, and once more asked and obtained leave for several hours. When he started out with Jean on Sunday he seemed queer, disturbed, changed. Kerderen did not understand; he vaguely suspected something, but he could not guess what it might be. They went straight to the usual place, and lunched slowly. Neither was hungry.
The following Friday, Luc borrowed ten sons from one of his friends, and once more asked and obtained leave for several hours. When he started out with Jean on Sunday he seemed queer, disturbed, changed. Kerderen did not understand; he vaguely suspected something, but he could not guess what it might be. They went straight to the usual place, and lunched slowly. Neither was hungry.
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