Mamma Valerius would come and listen behind the door, wipe
away a tear and go down-stairs again on tiptoe, sighing for her
Scandinavian skies.

Daae seemed not to recover his strength until the summer, when the
whole family went to stay at Perros-Guirec, in a far-away corner of
Brittany, where the sea was of the same color as in his own country.
Often he would play his saddest tunes on the beach and pretend that the
sea stopped its roaring to listen to them. And then he induced Mamma
Valerius to indulge a queer whim of his. At the time of the "pardons,"
or Breton pilgrimages, the village festival and dances, he went off
with his fiddle, as in the old days, and was allowed to take his
daughter with him for a week. They gave the smallest hamlets music to
last them for a year and slept at night in a barn, refusing a bed at
the inn, lying close together on the straw, as when they were so poor
in Sweden. At the same time, they were very neatly dressed, made no
collection, refused the halfpence offered them; and the people around
could not understand the conduct of this rustic fiddler, who tramped
the roads with that pretty child who sang like an angel from Heaven.
They followed them from village to village.

One day, a little boy, who was out with his governess, made her take a
longer walk than he intended, for he could not tear himself from the
little girl whose pure, sweet voice seemed to bind him to her. They
came to the shore of an inlet which is still called Trestraou, but
which now, I believe, harbors a casino or something of the sort. At
that time, there was nothing but sky and sea and a stretch of golden
beach. Only, there was also a high wind, which blew Christine's scarf
out to sea. Christine gave a cry and put out her arms, but the scarf
was already far on the waves. Then she heard a voice say:

"It's all right, I'll go and fetch your scarf out of the sea."

And she saw a little boy running fast, in spite of the outcries and the
indignant protests of a worthy lady in black. The little boy ran into
the sea, dressed as he was, and brought her back her scarf. Boy and
scarf were both soaked through. The lady in black made a great fuss,
but Christine laughed merrily and kissed the little boy, who was none
other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, staying at Lannion with his
aunt.

During the season, they saw each other and played together almost every
day. At the aunt's request, seconded by Professor Va