In Paimpol again, on the last day of February, before the setting-outfor Iceland. Gaud was standing up against her room door, pale andstill. For Yann was below, chatting to her father. She had seen himcome in, and indistinctly heard his voice.

　　All through the winter they never had met, as if some invincible fatealways had kept them apart.

　　After the failure to find him in her walk to Pors-Even, she had placedsome hope on the /Pardon des Islandais/ where there would be manychances for them to see and talk to one another, in the market-placeat dusk, among the crowd.

　　But on the very morning of the holiday, though the streets werealready draped in white and strewn with green garlands, a hard rainhad fallen in torrents, brought from the west by a soughing wind;never had so black a sky shadowed Paimpol. "What a pity! the boyswon't come over from Ploubazlanec now," had moaned the lasses, whosesweethearts dwelt there. And they did not come, or else had gonestraight into the taverns to drink together.

　　There had been no processions or strolls, and she, with her heartaching more than ever, had remained at her window the whole eveninglistening to the water streaming over the roofs, and the fishers'

　　noisy songs rising and falling out of the depths of the taverns.

　　For the last few days she had been expecting this visit, surmisingtruly that old Gaos would send his son to terminate the businessconcerning the sale of the boat, as he did not care to come intoPaimpol himself. She determined then that she would go straight tohim, and, unlike other girls, speak out frankly, to have herconscience clear on the subject. She would reproach him with havingsought her out and having abandoned her like a man without honour. Ifit were only stubbornness, timidity, his great love for his sailor-life, or simply the fear of a refusal, as Sylvestre had hinted, why,all these objections would disappear, after a frank, fairunderstanding between them. His fond smile might return, which hadcharmed and won her the winter before, and all would be settled. Thishope gave her strength and courage, and sweetened her impatience. Fromafar, things always appear so easy and simple to say and to do.

　　This visit of Yann's fell by chance at a convenient hour. She was surethat her father, who was sitting and smoking, would not get up to walkpart of the way with him; so in the empty passage she might have herexplanation out with him.

　　But now that the time had come, such boldness seemed extreme. The bareidea of looking him face to face at the foot of those stairs, made hertremble; and her heart beat as if it would break. At any moment thedoor below might open, with the squeak she knew so well, to let himout!

　　"No, no, she never would dare; rather would she die of longing andsorrow, than attempt such an act." She already made a few return stepstowards the back of her room, to regain her seat and work. But shestopped again, hesitating and afraid, remembering that to-morrow wasthe sailing day for Iceland, and that this occasion stood alone. Ifshe let it slip by, she would have to wait through months upon monthsof solitude and despair, languishing for his return--losing anotherwhole summer of her life.

　　Below, the door opened--Yann was coming out!

　　Suddenly resolute, she rushed downstairs, and tremblingly stood beforehim.

　　"Monsieur Yann, I--I wish to speak to you, please.""To me, Mademoiselle Gaud?" queried he, lowering his voice andsnatching off his hat.

　　He looked at her fiercely, with a hard expression in his flashingeyes, and his head thrown back, seeming even to wonder if he ought tostop for her at all. With one foot ready to start away, he stoodstraight up against the wall, as if to be as far apart from her aspossible, in the narrow passage, where he felt imprisoned.

　　Paralyzed, she could remember nothing of what she had wished to say;she had not thought he would try and pass on without listening to her.

　　What an affront!

　　"Does our house frighten you, Monsieur Yann?" she asked, in a dry, oddtone--not at all the one she wished to use.

　　He turned his eyes away, looking outside; his cheeks blazed red, arush of blood burned all his face, and his quivering nostrils dilatedwith every breath, keeping time with the heavings of his chest, like ayoung bull's.

　�............