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

　　They spoke to one another in that low voice of all lovers. But uponthis particular evening their conversation was now and again broken bylong troubled silence. He, in particular, said very little and loweredhis head with a faint smile, avoiding Gaud's inquiring eyes. For shehad been pressing him with questions all the evening concerning thatmystery that he positively would not divulge; and this time he felthimself cornered. She was too quick for him, and had fully made up hermind to learn; no possible shifts could get him out of telling hernow.

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

　　He tried to answer "yes," and faltered: "Oh! there was always plentyof rubbish babbled in Paimpol and Ploubazlanec."She asked what, but he could not answer her; so then she thought ofsomething else. "Was it about my style of dress, Yann?"Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time shehad dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But hewas obliged to acknowledge that that was not all.

　　"Was it because at that time we passed for very rich people, and youwere afraid of being refused?""Oh, no! not that." He said this with such simple confidence that Gaudwas amused.

　　Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-windswas heard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struckher, 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 irresistiblequestioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense withconfirmation.

　　He turned aside, laughing outright.