! ri tooral loo! I know
what to do!)

She always stopped short, while her eyes opened wide with a lifeless
expression, like those dying flames that suddenly flash out before
fading away. She hung her head and remained speechless for a great
length of time, her lower jaw dropping as in the dead.

One day she could remember nothing of her grandson. "Sylvestre?
Sylvestre?" repeated she, wondering whom Gaud meant; "oh! my dear, d'ye
see, I've so many of them, that now I can't remember their names!"

So saying she threw up her poor wrinkled hands, with a careless, almost
contemptuous toss. But the next day she remembered him quite well;
mentioning several things he had said or done, and that whole day long
she wept.

Oh! those long winter evenings when there was not enough wood for their
fire; to work in the bitter cold for one's daily bread, sewing hard to
finish the clothes brought over from Paimpol.

Granny Yvonne, sitting by the hearth, remained quiet enough, her feet
stuck in among the smouldering embers, and her hands clasped beneath her
apron. But at the beginning of the evening, Gaud always had to talk to
her to cheer her a little.

"Why don't ye speak to me, my good girl? In my time I've known many
girls who had plenty to say for themselves. I don't think it 'ud seem so
lonesome, if ye'd only talk a bit."

So Gaud would tell her chit-chat she had heard in town, or spoke of the
people she had met on her way home, talking of things that were quite
indifferent to her, as indeed all things were now; and stopping in the
midst of her stories when she saw the poor old woman was falling asleep.

There seemed nothing lively or youthful around her, whose fresh youth
yearned for youth. Her beauty would fade away, lonely and barren. The
wind from the sea came in from all sides, blowing her lamp about,
and the roar of the waves could be heard as in a ship. Listening, the
ever-present sad memory of Yann came to her, the man whose dominion
was these battling elements; through the long terrible nights, when all
things were unbridled and howling in the outer darkness, she thought of
him with agony.

Always alone as she was, with the sleeping old granny, she sometimes
grew frightened and looked in all dark corners, thinking of the sailors,
her ancestors, who had lived in these nooks, but perished in the sea on
such nights as these. Their spirits might possibly return; and she did
not feel assured against the visit of the d