CHAPTER V--THE COST OF OBSTINACY

One rainy evening they were sitting side by side near the hearth, and Granny Moan was asleep opposite them. The fire flames, dancing over the branches on the hearth, projected their magnified shadows on the beams overhead.

They spoke to one another in that low voice of all lovers. But upon this particular evening their conversation was now and again broken by long troubled silence. He, in particular, said very little and lowered his head with a faint smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For she had been pressing him with questions all the evening concerning that mystery that he positively would not divulge; and this time he felt himself cornered. She was too quick for him, and had fully made up her mind to learn; no possible shifts could get him out of telling her now.

"Was it any bad tales told about me?" she asked.

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. But he was obliged to acknowledge that that was not all.

"Was it because at that time we pa.s.sed for very rich people, and you were afraid of being refused?"

"Oh, no! not that." He said this with such simple confidence that Gaud was amused.

Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-winds was heard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck her, and her expression changed.

"If not anything of that sort, Yann, _what_ was it?" demanded she, suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, with the irresistible questioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense with confirmation.

He turned aside, laughing outright.

So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright; he never could give her a real reason, because there was none to give. He had simply "played the mule" (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But everybody had teased him so much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly said "no," but knew well enough in the bottom of his heart that when n.o.body thought any more about the hollow mystery it would become "yes."

So it was on account of Yann's childishness that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for two long years, and had longed to die.

At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive him? He felt such remorse for having made her suffer. Would she forgive him?

"It's my temper that does it, Gaud," said he. "At home with my folks, it's the same thing. Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole week angered against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you know how I love them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like a boy. If you think that I was happy to live unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it couldn't have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure."

Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft tears fall, she knew they were the outflow of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's confession. Besides, the present never would have been so happy without all her suffering; that being over, she was almost pleased at having gone through that time of trial.

Everything was finally cleared up between them, in a very unexpected though complete manner; there remained no clouds between their souls.

He drew her towards him, and they remained some time with their cheeks pressed close, requiring no further explanations. So chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam suddenly awaking, they remained before her as they were without any confusion or embarra.s.sment.

CHAPTER VI--THE BRIDAL

It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their wedding procession was returning from Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky.

They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing about them; as if they were above ordinary life and everybody else. The very wind seemed to respect them, while behind them their "train" was a jolly medley of laughing couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale.

Many people were present, overflowing with young life; others turning gray, but these still smiled as they thought of _their_ wedding-day and younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting a little, but something like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle of Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grand new cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had been dyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre.

The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets and _coiffes_, were similarly tossed about mercilessly.

At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant to custom, had bought two nosegays of artificial flowers, to complete their bridal attire. Yann had fastened his on anyhow upon his broad chest, but he was one of those men whom anything becomes. As for Gaud, there was still something of the lady about the manner in which she had placed the rude flowers in her bodice, as of old very close fitting to her unrivalled form.

The violin player, who led the whole band, bewildered by the wind, played at random; his tunes were heard by fits and starts betwixt the noisy gusts, and rose as shrill as the screaming of a sea-gull. All Ploubazlanec had turned out to look at them. This marriage seemed to excite people's sympathy, and many had come from far around; at each turn of the road there were groups stationed to see them pa.s.s. Nearly all Yann's mates, the Icelanders of Paimpol, were there. They cheered the bride and bridegroom as they pa.s.sed; Gaud returned their greeting, bowing slightly like a town lady, with serious grace; and all along the way she was greatly admired.

The darkest and most secluded hamlets around, even those in the woods, had been emptied of all their beggars, cripples, wastrels, poor, and idiots on crutches; these wretches scattered along the road, with accordions and hurdy-gurdies; they held out their hands and hats to receive the alms that Yann threw to them with his own n.o.ble look and Gaud with her beautiful queenly smile. Some of these poor waifs were very old and wore gray locks on heads that had never held much; crouching in the hollows of the roadside, they were of the same colour as the earth from which they seemed to have sprung, but so unformed as soon to be returned without ever having had any human thoughts. Their wandering glances were as indecipherable as the mystery of their abortive and useless existences. Without comprehending, they looked at the merrymakers' line pa.s.s 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.

At the foot of the outermost cliff, it rests on a threshold of low-lying rocks close to the water, and seems almost to belong to the sea already.

A narrow goat's path leads down to it through ma.s.ses of granite.

The wedding party spread over the incline of the forsaken cape head; and among the rocks and stones, happy words were lost in the roar of the wind and the surf.

It was useless to try and reach the chapel; in this boisterous weather the path was not safe, the sea came too close with its high rollers.

Its white-crested spouts sprang up in the air, so as to break over everything in a ceaseless shower.

Yann, who had advanced the farthest with Gaud on his arm, was the first to retreat before the spray. Behind, his wedding party had remained strewn about the rocks, in a semicircle; it seemed as if he had come to present his wife to the sea, which received her with scowling, ill-boding aspect.

Turning round, he caught sight of the violinist perched on a gray rock, trying vainly to play his dance tunes between gusts of wind.

"Put up your music, my lad," said Yann; "old Neptune is playing us a livelier tune than yours."

A heavily beating shower, which had threatened since morning, began to fall. There was a mad rush then, accompanied by outcries and laughter, to climb up the bluff and take refuge at the Gaoses'.

CHAPTER VII--THE DISCORDANT NOTE

The wedding breakfast was given at Yann's parents', because Gaud's home was so poor. It took place upstairs in the great new room.

Five-and-twenty guests sat down round the newly married pair--sisters and brothers, cousin Gaos the pilot, Guermeur, Keraez, Yvon Duff, all of the old _Marie's_ crew, who were now the _Leopoldine's_; four very pretty bridesmaids, with their hair-plaits wound round their ears, like the empresses' in ancient Byzantium, and their modern white caps, shaped like sea-sh.e.l.ls; and four best men, all broad-shouldered Icelanders, with large proud eyes.

Downstairs, of course, there was eating and cooking going on; the whole train of the wedding procession had gathered there in disorder; and the extra servants, hired from Paimpol, well-nigh lost their senses before the mighty lumbering up of the capacious hearth with pots and pans.

Yann's parents would have wished a richer wife for their son, naturally, but Gaud was known now as a good, courageous girl; and then, in spite of her lost fortune, she was the greatest beauty in the country, and it flattered them to see the couple so well matched.

The old father was inclined to be merry after the soup, and spoke of the bringing up of his fourteen little Gaoses; but they were all doing well, thanks to the ten thousand francs that had made them well off.

Neighbour Guermeur related the tricks he played in the navy, yarns about China, the West Indies, and Brazil, making the young ones who would be off some day, open their eyes in wonderment.

"There is a cry against the sea-service," said the old sailor, laughing, "but a man can have fine fun in it."

The weather did not clear up; on the contrary, the wind and rain raged through the gloomy night; and in spite of the care taken, some of the guests were fidgety about their smacks anch.o.r.ed in the harbour, and spoke of getting up to go and see if all was right. But here a more jovial sound than ever was heard from downstairs, where the younger members of the party were supping together; cheers of joy and peals of laughter ascended. The little cousins were beginning to feel exhilarated by the cider.

Boiled and roasted meats had been served up with poultry, different kinds of fish, omelets and pancakes.

The debate had turned upon fishery and smuggling, and the best means of fooling the coast-guardsmen, who, as we all know, are the sworn enemies of honest seafarers.

Upstairs, at the grand table, old circ.u.mnavigators went so far as to relate droll stories, in the vernacular.

But the wind was raging altogether too strong; for the windows shook with a terrible clatter, and the man telling the tale had hurriedly ended to go and see to his smack.