So it was on account of Yann’s childishness
that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for two long
years, and had longed to die.
At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with
kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive
him? He felt such remorse for having made her
suffer. Would she forgive him?
“It’s my temper that does it, Gaud,”
said he. “At home with my folks, it’s
the same thing. Sometimes, when I’m stubborn,
I remain a whole week angered against them, without
speaking to anybody. Yet you know how I love
them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like
a boy. If you think that I was happy to live
unmarried, you’re mistaken. No, it couldn’t
have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure.”
Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft
tears fall, she knew they were the outflow of her
last pangs vanishing before Yann’s confession.
Besides, the present never would have been so happy
without all her suffering; that being over, she was
almost pleased at having gone through that time of
trial.
Everything was finally cleared up between them, in
a very unexpected though complete manner; there remained
no clouds between their souls. He drew her towards
him, and they remained some time with their cheeks
pressed close, requiring no further explanations.
So chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam
suddenly awaking, they remained before her as they
were without any confusion or embarrassment.
It was six days before the sailing for Iceland.
Their wedding procession was returning from Ploubazlanec
Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre,
rain-laden sky.
They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked
along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen
leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved, and grave,
they seemed to see nothing about them; as if they
were above ordinary life and everybody else. The
very wind seemed to respect them, while behind them
their “train” was a jolly medley of laughing
couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western
gale.
Many people were present, overflowing with young life;
others turning gray, but these still smiled as they
thought of their wedding-day and younger years.
Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting
a little, but something like happy, hanging on the
arm of an old uncle of Yann’s, who was paying
her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grand
new cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl,
which had been dyed a third time, and black, because
of Sylvestre.
The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets
and coiffes, were similarly tossed about mercilessly.
At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant
to custom, had bought two nosegays of artificial flowers,
to complete their bridal attire. Yann had fastened
his on anyhow upon his broad chest, but he was one
of those men whom anything becomes. As for Gaud,
there was still something of the lady about the manner
in which she had placed the rude flowers in her bodice,
as of old very close fitting to her unrivalled form.
