This end of September was like another summer, only a little lesslively. The weather was so beautiful, that had it not been for thedead leaves that fell upon the roads, one might have thought that Junehad come back again. Husbands and sweethearts had all returned, andeverywhere was the joy of a second spring-time of love.
At last, one day, one of the missing ships was signalled. Which onewas it?
The groups of speechless and anxious women had rapidly formed on thecliff. Gaud, pale and trembling, was there, by the side of her Yann'sfather.
"I'm almost sure," said the old fisher, "I'm almost sure it's them! Ared rail and a topsail that clews up--it's very like them anyhow. Whatdo you make it, Gaud?
"No, it isn't," he went on, with sudden discouragement; "we've made amistake again, the boom isn't the same, and ours has a jigger sail.
Well, well, it isn't our boat this time, it's only the /Marie-Jeanne/.
Never mind, my lass, surely they'll not be long now."But day followed day, and night succeeded night, with uninterruptedserenity.
Gaud continued to dress every day like a poor crazed woman, always infear of being taken for the widow of a shipwrecked sailor, feelingexasperated when others looked furtively and compassionately at her,and glancing aside so that she might not meet those glances that frozeher very blood.
She had fallen into the habit of going in the early morning right tothe end of the headland, on the high cliffs of Pors-Even, passingbehind Yann's old home, so as not to be seen by his mother or littlesisters. She went to the extreme point of the Ploubazlanec land, whichis outlined in the shape of a reindeer's horn upon the gray waters ofthe channel, and sat there all day long at the foot of the lonelycross, which rises high above the immense waste of the ocean. Thereare many of these crosses hereabout; they are set up on the mostadvanced cliffs of the seabound land, as if to implore mercy and tocalm that restless mysterious power that draws men away, never to givethem back, and in preference retains the bravest and noblest.
Around this cross stretches the ever-green waste, strewn with shortrushes. At this great height the sea air was very pure; it scarcelyretained the briny odour of the weeds, but was perfumed with all theexquisite ripeness of September flowers.
Far away, all the bays and inlets of the coast were firmly outlined,rising one above another; the land of Brittany terminated in raggededges, which spread out far into the tranquil surface.
Near at hand the reefs were numerous, but out beyond nothing broke itspolished mirror, from which arose a soft, caressing ripple, light andintensified from the depths of its many bays. Its horizon seemed socalm, and its depths so soft! The great blue sepulchre of many Gaoseshid its inscrutable mystery, while the breezes, faint as human breath,wafted to and fro the perfume of the stunted gorse, which had bloomedagain in the lastest autumn sun.
At regular hours the sea retreated, and great spaces were leftuncovered everywhere, as if the Channel was slowly drying up; thenwith the same lazy slowness, the waters rose again, and continuedtheir everlasting coming and going, without any heed of the dead.
At the foot of the cross, Gaud remained, surrounded by these tranquilmysteries, gazing ever before her, until the night fell and she couldsee no more.
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