But one day in Paimpol, hearing that _La Marie_ had just got in,
Gaud felt possessed with a kind of fever. All her quiet composure
disappeared; she abruptly finished up her work, without quite knowing
why, and set off home sooner than usual.
Upon the road, as she hurried on, she recognised _him_, at some distance
off, coming towards her. She trembled and felt her strength giving way.
He was now quite close, only about twenty steps off, his head erect and
his hair curling out from beneath his fisher's cap. She was so taken by
surprise at this meeting, that she was afraid she might fall, and then
he would understand all; she would die of very shame at it. She thought,
too, she was not looking well, but wearied by the hurried work. She
would have done anything to be hidden away under the reeds or in one of
the ferret-holes.
He also had taken a backward step, as if to turn in another direction.
But it was too late now. Both met in the narrow path. Not to touch her,
he drew up against the bank, with a side swerve like a skittish horse,
looking at her in a wild, stealthy way.
She, too, for one half second looked up, and in spite of herself mutely
implored him, with an agonized prayer. In that involuntary meeting of
their eyes, swift as the firing of a gun, these gray pupils of hers had
appeared to dilate and light up with some grand noble thought, which
flashed forth in a blue flame, while the blood rushed crimson even to
her temples beneath her golden tresses.
As he touched his cap he faltered. “Wish you good-day, Mademoiselle
Gaud.”
“Good-day, Monsieur Yann,” she answered.
That was all. He passed on. She went on her way, still quivering, but
feeling, as he disappeared, that her blood was slowly circulating again
and her strength returning.
At home, she found Granny Moan crouching in a corner with her head
held between her hands, sobbing with her childish “he, he!” her hair
dishevelled and falling from beneath her cap like thin skeins of gray
hemp.
“Oh, my kind Gaud! I've just met young Gaos down by Plouherzel as I came
back from my wood-gathering; we spoke of our poor lad, of course. They
arrived this morning from Iceland, and in the afternoon he came over to
see me while I was out. Poor lad, he had tears in his eyes, too. He came
right up to my door, my kind Gaud, to carry my little fagot.”
She listened, standing, while her heart seemed almost to break; so this
visit of Yann's, upon which she had so much relied for saying so many
things, was already over, and would doubtless not occur again. It
was all done. Her poor heart seemed more lonely than ever. Her misery
harder, and the world more empty; and she hung her head with a wild
desire to die.