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Updated: May 24, 2025
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.
The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily and despairingly threatened them with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad had only been here! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you young rascals!" But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a very respectable old woman, who only drank water. "Aren't you ashamed?" roared he to the boys.
She loved the whole region of Ploubazlanec, and was almost happy that fate had driven her there; she never could have become resigned to live in any other place. Towards this end of August, a southern warmth, diffusing languor, rises and spreads towards the north, with luminous afterglows and stray rays from a distant sun, which float over the Breton seas.
Three or four times, on the Ploubazlanec road, she had seen him coming towards her, but she was always quick enough to shun him; and he, too, in those cases, took the opposite direction over the heath. As if by mutual understanding, now, they fled from each other. At Paimpol lives a large, stout woman named Madame Tressoleur.
She stayed three days with him, three happy days, though over them hung a dark and ominous forecast; one might as well call them three days of respite. At last she was forced to return to Ploubazlanec, for she had come to the end of her little savings, and Sylvestre was to embark the day afterward. Oh that last day!
Their wandering glances were as indecipherable as the mystery of their abortive and useless existences. Without comprehending, they looked at the merrymakers' line pass by. It went on beyond Pors-Even and the Gaoses' home. They meant to follow the ancient bridal tradition of Ploubazlanec and go to the chapel of La Trinite, which is situated at the very end of the Breton country.
He did not go in to drink with them; and without noticing either them or the rain, which had begun to fall, he slowly walked away under the shower, as if absorbed in his thoughts, crossing the market-place towards Ploubazlanec. Then she forgave him all, and a feeling of hopeless tenderness for him came, instead of the bitter disappointment that previously had filled her heart.
He tried to answer "yes," and faltered: "Oh! there was always plenty of rubbish babbled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec." She asked what, but he could not answer her; so then she thought of something else. "Was it about my style of dress, Yann?" Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time she had dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman.
"You ought to let me carry the money to him, father," she had said. "I shall be pleased to see Marie Gaos. I never have been so far in Ploubazlanec, either, and I shall enjoy the long walk." To speak the truth, she was curiously anxious to know Yann's family, which she might some day enter; and she also wanted to see the house and village.
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