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Updated: June 19, 2025
And there, now, was the man she loved! One fine day she had returned to live in the midst of these fishers, through a whim of her father, who had wished to end his days there, and live like a landsman in the market-place of Paimpol. The good old dame, poor but tidy, left Gaud with cordial thanks as soon as the letter had been read again and the envelope closed.
Through the sweet evening twilight, she walked home from Paimpol, all along the cliff road inhaling the fresh, comforting sea air. Constant sitting at needlework had not deformed her like many others, who are always bent in two over their work and she drew up her beautiful supple form perfectly erect in looking over the sea, fairly across to where Yann was it seemed.
She wanted to ask him this herself straightforwardly, but Sylvestre thought that it would not be the right thing, and it would not look well for her to appear so bold. In Paimpol already her manners and dress were sufficiently criticised. She undressed slowly as if in a dream; first her muslin cap, then her town-cut dress, which she threw carelessly on a chair.
On some Sundays, parties of young fellows who came out of the taverns or back from Paimpol, passed along the road, near the door of the Moans; they were such as lived at the land's end of Pors-Even way. They passed very late, caring little for the cold and wet, accustomed as they were to frost and tempests.
After dinner, they recovered the sweet impression of spring again, out on the Pors-Even road; for the air was calm, almost genial, and the twilight still lingered over the land. They went to see the family for Yann to bid good-bye and returned early, as they wished to rise with break of day. The next morning the quay of Paimpol was crowded with people.
Every moment her feet caught in the brown trailing plants, tangled like hair, which were sea-weeds littering the pathway. At the Cross of Plouezoc'h she bade good-bye to the old man, and begged him to return. The lights of Paimpol were already in view, and there was no more occasion to be afraid. So hope was over for this time. Who could tell her when she might see Yann again?
The Paimpol fleet were scattered over the quiet mirror, animating the desert. Here and there appeared distant sails, unfurled for mere form's sake, considering there was no breeze. They were like clear white outlines upon the greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing off Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade that ladies' yachting was no name for it.
He had thought that it might take place with Gaud Mevel, a blonde lass from Paimpol; and that he would have the happiness of being present at the marriage-feast before starting for the navy, that long five years' exile, with its dubious return, the thought of which already plucked at his heart-strings. Four o'clock in the morning now. The watch below came up, all three, to relieve the others.
But on the very morning of the holiday, though the streets were already draped in white and strewn with green garlands, a hard rain had fallen in torrents, brought from the west by a soughing wind; never had so black a sky shadowed Paimpol. "What a pity! the boys won't come over from Ploubazlanec now," had moaned the lasses, whose sweethearts dwelt there.
There was one for him, postmarked "Paimpol," but it was not Gaud's writing. What did that mean? from whom did it come else? After having turned and flourished it about, he opened it fearingly, and read: "PLOUBAZLANEC, March 5th, 1884. So, it was from his dear old granny. He breathed free again.
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