Chance had brought the two together, one day when she was on a visit to
her godmother in Brest.
The lover lost no time, and she, won over by Yves' manly air, by his
honest, winning smile, had been induced to consent--not without a
certain uneasiness, nevertheless--to this precipitate marriage, which
was going, for a start, to make her a widow for some seven or eight
months.
She had a little fortune as they say in the country, and was going to
return, as soon as we had left, to her parents' home in her village of
Toulven.
Yves confided to me that they were expecting the arrival of a child.
"You will see," he said. "I bet that he will arrive just in time for our
return."
And he embraced his wife, who was weeping. We departed. Once more we
were going to cruise in the blue domain of the flying fish and dorados.