Part 2 In The Breton Land Chapter 7

　　"His sweetheart's a trifle old!" said the others, a couple of days later, asthey laughed after Sylvestre and his grandmother, "but they seem to get onfine together all the same."It amused them to see the boy, for the first time, walk through thestreets of Recouvrance, with a woman at his side, like the rest of them; and,bending towards her with a tender look, whisper what seemed to be verysoft nothings.

　　She was a very quick, diminutive person seen from behind, with rathershort skirts for the fashion of the day; and a scanty brown shawl, and ahigh Paimpol /coiffe/. She, too, hanging on his arm, turned towards himwith an affectionate glance.

　　"A trifle old was his sweetheart!"That's what the others called after him, we say, but without spite, forany one could see that she was his old granny, come up from the country.

　　She had come, too, in a hurry, suddenly terrified at the news of his suddendeparture; for this Chinese war had already cost Paimpol many sailors. Soshe had scraped together all her poor little savings, put her best Sundaydress and a fresh clean /coiffe/ in a box, and had set out to kiss him once61AN ICELAND FISHERMANagain.

　　She had gone straight to the barracks to ask for him; at first hisadjutant had refused to let him go out.

　　"If you've anything to say, my good woman, go and speak to thecaptain yourself. There he is, passing."So she calmly walked up to him, and he allowed himself to be wonover.

　　"Send Moan to change his clothes, to go out," said he.

　　All in hot haste Moan had gone to rig up in his best attire, while thegood old lady, to make him laugh, of course, made a most inimitably drollface and a mock curtsey at the adjutant behind his back.

　　But when the grandson appeared in his full uniform, with theinevitable turned-down collar, leaving his throat bare, she was quite struckwith his beauty; his black beard was cut into a seamanly fashionable pointby the barber, and his cap was decked out with long floating ribbons, witha golden anchor at each end. For the moment she almost saw in him herson Pierre, who, twenty years before, had also been a sailor in the navy,and the remembrance of the far past, with all its dead, stealthily shadowedthe present hour.

　　But the sadness soon passed away. Arm-in-arm they strolled on, happyto be together; and it was then that the others had pretended to see in herhis sweetheart, and voted her "a trifle old."She had taken him, for a treat, to dine in an inn kept by some peoplefrom Paimpol, which had been recommended to her as rather cheap. Andthen, still arm-in-arm, they had sauntered through Brest, looking at theshop-windows. There never were such funny stories told as those she toldher grandson to make him laugh; of course all in Paimpol Breton, so thatthe passers-by might not understand.