CHAPTER XVI
LONE AND LORN
Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early February, fine,
temperate weather. Yann had just come from his shipowner's where he
had received his wages for the last summer's fishery, fifteen hundred
francs, which, according to the custom of the family, he carried to
his mother. The catch had been a good one, and he returned well
pleased.
Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side of the road. An old
woman was gesticulating with her stick, while the street boys mocked
and laughed around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old granny whom
Sylvestre had so tenderly loved--her dress torn and bedraggled--had
now become one of those poor old women, almost fallen back in second
childhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their roads. The sight
hurt him cruelly.
The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily and
despairingly threatened them with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad had
only 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 fallen
down; her cap was awry, and her dress covered with mud; they called
out 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 very
respectable 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 in
the twinkling of an eye they all took flight, frightened and confused
before "Long Gaos."
Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing home her work for
the evening, had seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny in
the 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; neither
thought of avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply and
they gazed rather startled at being so near one another; but without
hatred, almost with affection, united as they were in this common
impulse of pity and protection.
The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor dead grimalkin for
some time, because he had a black, satanic look; though he was really
a very good cat, and when one looked closely at him, he was soft and
caress-inviting of coat. They had stoned him to death, and one of his
eyes hung out. The poor old woman went on grumbling, shaking with
emotion, 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 with
soothing words. Yann was quite indignant to think that little children
could be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and her
pet. Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart ached for the poor
old dame as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so dearly, and
the terrible pain it would have been to him to see her thus, under
derision and in misery.
Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for her state. "She
must have fallen down," she said in a low voice; " 'tis true her dress
isn't new, for we're not very rich, Monsieur Yann; but I mended it
again only yesterday, and this morning when I left home I'm sure she
was neat and tidy."
He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched by that simple
excuse than by clever phrases or self-reproaches and tears. Side by
side they walked on to the Moans' cottage. He always had acknowledged
her to be lovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him that she
was even more beautiful now in her poverty and mourning. She wore a
graver look, and her gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and
nevertheless seemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul. Her
figure, too, was thoroughly formed. She was twenty-three now, in the
full bloom of her loveliness. She looked like a genuine fisher's
daughter, too, in her plain black gown and cap; yet one could not
precisely tell what gave her that unmistakable token of the lady; it
was involuntary and concealed within herself, and she could not be
blamed for it; only perhaps her bodice was a trifle nicer fitting than
the others, though from sheer inborn taste, and showed to advantage
her rounded bust and perfect arms. But, no! the mystery was revealed
in her quiet voice and look.
