“There are my father and mother,” said the young man to Camille.

The marquise stopped short.  Madame du Guenic felt the most violent repulsion at the appearance of Beatrix, although the latter was dressed to much advantage.  A Leghorn hat with wide brims and a wreath of blue-bells, her crimped hair fluffy beneath it, a gown of some gray woollen stuff, and a blue sash with floating ends gave her the air of a princess disguised as a milkmaid.

“She has no heart,” thought the baroness.

“Mademoiselle,” said Calyste to Camille, “this is Madame du Guenic, and this is my father.”  Then he said turning to the baron and baroness, “Mademoiselle des Touches, and Madame la Marquise de Rochefide, nee de Casteran, father.”

The baron bowed to Mademoiselle des Touches, who made a respectful bow, full of gratitude, to the baroness.

“That one,” thought Fanny, “really loves my boy; she seems to thank me for bringing him into the world.”

“I suppose you have come to see, as I have, whether the harvest is a good one.  But I believe you have better reasons for doing so than I,” said the baron to Camille.  “You have property here, I think, mademoiselle.”

“Mademoiselle is the largest of all the owners,” said one of the paludiers who were grouped about them, “and may God preserve her to us, for she’s a good lady.”

The two parties bowed and separated.

“No one would suppose Mademoiselle des Touches to be more than thirty,” said the baron to his wife.  “She is very handsome.  And Calyste prefers that haggard Parisian marquise to a sound Breton girl!”

“I fear he does,” replied the baroness.

A boat was waiting at the steps of the jetty, where the party embarked without a smile.  The marquise was cold and dignified.  Camille had lectured Calyste on his disobedience, explaining to him clearly how matters stood.  Calyste, a prey to black despair, was casting glances at Beatrix in which anger and love struggled for the mastery.  Not a word was said by any of them during the short passage from the jetty of Guerande to the extreme end of the port of Croisic, the point where the boats discharge the salt, which the peasant-women then bear away on their heads in huge earthen jars after the fashion of caryatides.  These women go barefooted with very short petticoats.  Many of them let the kerchiefs which cover their bosoms fly carelessly open.  Some wear only shifts, and are the more dignified; for the less clothing a woman wears, the more nobly modest is her bearing.

The little Danish vessel had just finished lading, therefore the landing of the two handsome ladies excited much curiosity among the female salt-carriers; and as much to avoid their remarks as to serve Calyste, Camille sprang forward toward the rocks, leaving him to follow with Beatrix, while Gasselin put a distance of some two hundred steps between himself and his master.