On the following morning I opened my eyes in the large room of the good
dame Le Pendreff. The Breton sun filtered gently through the windows.
The day, apparently, was very fine.
After the first few moments which I always spend in asking myself in
what corner of the world I am, I remembered Yves and I heard outside the
tramping of a crowd in sabots. There was a great fair that day in
Paimpol, and I dressed myself up in ordinary sailor's clothes in order
that I might not intimidate the many friends to whom I was going to be
presented as a south-country sailor. This had been arranged with Yves,
both the dressing up and the story attached to it.
I descended the steps of the hotel. The sun was shining and the square
was full of people: sailors, peasants, fishermen. Yves, too, was there;
he had returned in the early morning for the fête with all his
relations from Plouherzel; and he was waiting outside to conduct me to
his mother.
She was a very old woman, this mother of Yves, holding herself very
upright and rather proudly in her peasant dress. She resembled him a
little about the eyes, but her expression was hard. I was surprised to
find her so old. She looked over seventy. It is true, of course, that in
the country people age very quickly, especially when grief is added to
toil.
She did not understand a word of French and scarcely looked at me.
But there was a great number of cousins and friends who all welcomed me
warmly and with an air of good humour. They had come from afar, from
their little moss-grown cottages scattered about the wild countryside,
to assist at the great fête of the town. And with them I needs must
drink: cider, wine; there was no end to it.
The noise steadily increased and some hoarse-voiced pedlars of ballads
were singing now in Breton, under red umbrellas, woeful and heartrending
things.
Presently a personage arrived of whom Yves had often spoken to me, his
childhood's friend, Jean; he lived in a neighbouring cottage, and Yves
had come across him again in the service, a sailor like himself. He was
of our own age, with an open and intelligent face. He embraced Yves
affectionately and then introduced us to Jeannie, who, for the last
fortnight, had been his wife.
Yves overwhelmed his mother with attentions and caresses; they had many
things to tell one another, and they both spoke at once. He made
apologies to us from time to time, but it was good to see them and to
hear them. Her eyes lost their hard expression when she looked at him.
The good people of the country have always interminable business to
transact with the notary; I left them as they all made their way to the
one at Paimpol to wait their turn.
In any case I had decided not to establish myself with them until
to-morrow, in order that I might not be in the way during their first
day, and I went off alone for a long walk.