The sinister clamour without was indeed worse than ever.  It had become one continuous howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand mad creatures were yelling with full throats and out-stretched necks.

One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting out their deafening boom in the distance, but that was only the sea hammering the coast of Ploubazlanec on all points; undoubtedly it did not appear contented, and Gaud felt her heart shrink at this dismal music, which no one had ordered for their wedding-feast.

Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who had risen softly, beckoned his wife to come to speak with him.

It was to go home.  She blushed, filled with shame, and confused at having left her seat so promptly.  She said it would be impolite to go away directly and leave the others.

“Not a bit on it,” replied Yann, “my father allows it; we may go,” and away he carried her.

They hurried away stealthily.  Outside they found themselves in the cold, the bitter wind, and the miserable, agitated night.  They began to run hand-in-hand.

From the height of the cliff-path, one could imagine, without seeing it, the furious open sea, whence arose all this hubbub.  They ran along, the wind cutting their faces, both bowed before the angry gusts, and obliged to put their hands over their mouths to cover their breathing, which the wind had completely taken away at first.

He held her up by the waist at the outset, to keep her dress from trailing on the ground, and her fine new shoes from being spoiled in the water, which streamed about their feet, and next he held her round the neck, too, and continued to run on still faster.  He could hardly realize that he loved her so much!  To think that she was now twenty-three and he nearly twenty-eight; that they might have been married two years ago, and as happy then as to-night!

At last they arrived at home, that poor lodging, with its damp flooring and moss-grown roof.  They lit the candle, which the wind blew out twice.

Old grandam Moan, who had been taken home before the singing began, was there.  She had been sleeping for the last two hours in her bunk, the flaps of which were shut.  They drew near with respect and peeped through the fretwork of her press, to bid her good-night, if by chance she were not asleep.  But they only perceived her still venerable face and closed eyes; she slept, or she feigned to do so, not to disturb them.

They felt they were alone then.  Both trembled as they clasped hands.  He bent forward to kiss her lips; but Gaud turned them aside, through ignorance of that kind of kiss; and as chastely as on the evening of their betrothal, she pressed hers to Yann’s cheek, which was chilled, almost frozen, by the wind.