Part 3 In The Shadow Chapter 16

Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early February, fine,temperate weather. Yann had just come from his shipowner's where hehad received his wages for the last summer's fishery, fifteen hundredfrancs, which, according to the custom of the family, he carried tohis mother. The catch had been a good one, and he returned wellpleased.

　　Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side of the road. An oldwoman was gesticulating with her stick, while the street boys mockedand laughed around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old granny whomSylvestre had so tenderly loved--her dress torn and bedraggled--hadnow become one of those poor old women, almost fallen back in secondchildhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their roads. The sighthurt him cruelly.

　　The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily anddespairingly threatened them with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad hadonly been here! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you young rascals!"It appeared that as she ran after them to beat them, she had fallendown; her cap was awry, and her dress covered with mud; they calledout that she was tipsy (as often happens to those poor old "grizzling"people in the country who have met misfortune).

　　But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a veryrespectable old woman, who only drank water.

　　"Aren't you ashamed?" roared he to the boys.

　　He was very angry, and his voice and tone frightened them, so that inthe twinkling of an eye they all took flight, frightened and confusedbefore "Long Gaos."Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing home her work forthe evening, had seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny inthe group. She eagerly rushed forward to learn what the matter was,and what they had done to her; seeing the cat, she understood it all.

　　She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who did not look aside; neitherthought of avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply andthey gazed rather startled at being so near one another; but withouthatred, almost with affection, united as they were in this commonimpulse of pity and protection.

　　The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor dead grimalkin forsome time, because he had a black, satanic look; though he was reallya very good cat, and when one looked closely at him, he was soft andcaress-inviting of coat. They had stoned him to death, and one of hiseyes hung out. The poor old woman went on grumbling, shaking withemotion, and carrying her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit.

　　"Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor lad, if he were only here;for sure, they'd never dared a-do it."Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles; and her rough blue-veined hands trembled.

　　Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried to comfort her withsoothing words. Yann was quite indignant to think that little childrencould be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and herpet. Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart ached for the poorold dame as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so dearly, andthe terrible pain it would have been to him to see her thus, underderision and in misery.

　　Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for her state. "Shemust have fallen down," she said in a low voice; " 'tis true her dressisn't new, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann; but I mended itagain only yesterday, and this morning when I left home I'm sure shewas neat and tidy."He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched by that simpleexcuse than by clever phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side byside they walked on to the Moans' cottage. He always had acknowledgedher to be lovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him that shewas even more beautiful now in her poverty and mourning. She wore agraver look, and her gray eyes had a more reserved expression, andnevertheless seemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul. Herfigure, too, was thoroughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in thefull bloom of her loveliness. She looked like a genuine fisher'sdaughter, too, in her plain black gown and cap; yet one could notprecisely tell what gave her that unmistakable token of the lady; itwas involuntary and concealed within herself, and she could not beblamed for it; only perhaps her bodice was a trifle nicer fitting thanthe others, though from sheer inborn taste, and showed to advantageher rounded bust and perfect arms. But, no! the mystery was revealedin her quiet voice and look.