ll
required all her attention, but who would soon die. Then, what would be
the good of living and working after that; of what use would she be?

Out of doors, the western wind had again risen; and, notwithstanding its
deep distant soughing, the soft regular patter of the eaves-droppings
could be heard as they dripped from the roof. And so the tears of the
forsaken one began to flow--tears running even to her lips to impart
their briny taste, and dropping silently on her work, like summer
showers brought by no breeze, but suddenly falling, hurried and heavy,
from the over-laden clouds; as she could no longer see to work, and
she felt worked out and discouraged before this great hollowness of her
life, she folded up the extra-sized body of Madame Tressoleur and went
to bed.

She shivered upon that fine, grand bed, for, like all things in the
cottage, it seemed also to be getting colder and damper. But as she
was very young, although she still continued weeping, it ended by her
growing warm and falling asleep.

CHAPTER XVI--LONE AND LORN

Other sad weeks followed on, till it was early February, fine, temperate
weather. Yann had just come from his shipowner's where he had received
his wages for the last summer's fishery, fifteen hundred francs, which,
according to the custom of the family, he carried to his mother. The
catch had been a good one, and he returned well pleased.

Nearing Ploubazlanec, he spied a crowd by the side of the road. An old
woman was gesticulating with her stick, while the street boys mocked
and laughed around her. It was Granny Moan. The good old granny whom
Sylvestre had so tenderly loved--her dress torn and bedraggled--had
now become one of those poor old women, almost fallen back in second
childhood, who are followed and ridiculed along their roads. The sight
hurt him cruelly.

The boys of Ploubazlanec had killed her cat, and she angrily and
despairingly threatened them with her stick. "Ah, if my poor lad had
only been here! for sure, you'd never dared do it, you young rascals!"

It appeared that as she ran after them to beat them, she had fallen
down; her cap was awry, and her dress covered with mud; they called
out that she was tipsy (as often happens to those poor old "grizzling"
people in the country who have met misfortune).

But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a very
respectable old woman, who only drank water.

"Aren't you ashamed?" roared he to the