AN ICELAND FISHERMAN [62]
else. "Was it about my style of dress, Yann?"
Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time she had dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But he was obliged to acknowledge that that was not all.
"Was it because at that time we passed for very rich people, and you were afraid of being refused?"
"Oh, no! not that." He said this with such simple confidence that Gaud was amused.
Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-winds was heard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck her, and her expression changed.
"If not anything of that sort, Yann, /what/ was it?" demanded she, suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, with the irresistible questioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense with confirmation.
He turned aside, laughing outright.
So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright; he never could give her a real reason, because there was none to give. He had simply "played the mule" (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But everybody had teased him so much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly said "no," but knew well enough in the bottom of his heart that when nobody thought any more about the hollow mystery it would become "yes."
So it was on account of Yann's childishness that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for two long years, and had longed to die.
At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive him? He felt such remorse for having made her suffer. Would she forgive him?
"It's my temper that does it, Gaud," said he. "At home with my folks, it's the same thing. Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole week angered against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you know how I love them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like a boy. If you think that I was happy to live unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it couldn't have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure."
Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft tears fall, she knew they were the outflow of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's confession. Besides, the present never would have been so happy without all her suffering; that being over, she was almost pleased at having gone through that time of trial.
Everything was finally cleared up between them, in a very unexpected though complete manner; there remained no clouds between their souls. He drew her towards him, and they remained some time with their cheeks pressed close, requiring no further explanations. So chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam suddenly awaking, they remained before her as they were without any confusion or embarrassment.
CHAPTER VI THE BRIDAL
It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their wedding procession was returning from Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky.
They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing about them; as if they were above ordinary life and everybody else. The very wind seemed to respect them, while behind them their "train" was a jolly medley of laughing couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale.
Many people were present, overflowing with young life; others turning gray, but these still smiled as they thought of /their/ wedding-day and younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting a little, but something like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle of Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grand new cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had been dyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre.
The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets and /coiffes/, were similarly tossed about mercilessly.
At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant to custom, had bought two nosegays of artificial flowers,
Yes, of course, that had had something to do with it; at one time she had dressed too grandly to be the wife of a simple fisherman. But he was obliged to acknowledge that that was not all.
"Was it because at that time we passed for very rich people, and you were afraid of being refused?"
"Oh, no! not that." He said this with such simple confidence that Gaud was amused.
Then fell another silence, during which the moaning of the sea-winds was heard outside. Looking attentively at him, a fresh idea struck her, and her expression changed.
"If not anything of that sort, Yann, /what/ was it?" demanded she, suddenly, looking at him fair in the eyes, with the irresistible questioning look of one who guesses the truth, and could dispense with confirmation.
He turned aside, laughing outright.
So at last she had, indeed, guessed aright; he never could give her a real reason, because there was none to give. He had simply "played the mule" (as Sylvestre had said long ago). But everybody had teased him so much about that Gaud, his parents, Sylvestre, his Iceland mates, and even Gaud herself. Hence he had stubbornly said "no," but knew well enough in the bottom of his heart that when nobody thought any more about the hollow mystery it would become "yes."
So it was on account of Yann's childishness that Gaud had been languishing, forsaken for two long years, and had longed to die.
At first Yann laughed, but now he looked at Gaud with kind eyes, questioning deeply. Would she forgive him? He felt such remorse for having made her suffer. Would she forgive him?
"It's my temper that does it, Gaud," said he. "At home with my folks, it's the same thing. Sometimes, when I'm stubborn, I remain a whole week angered against them, without speaking to anybody. Yet you know how I love them, and I always end by doing what they wish, like a boy. If you think that I was happy to live unmarried, you're mistaken. No, it couldn't have lasted anyway, Gaud, you may be sure."
Of course, she forgave him. As she felt the soft tears fall, she knew they were the outflow of her last pangs vanishing before Yann's confession. Besides, the present never would have been so happy without all her suffering; that being over, she was almost pleased at having gone through that time of trial.
Everything was finally cleared up between them, in a very unexpected though complete manner; there remained no clouds between their souls. He drew her towards him, and they remained some time with their cheeks pressed close, requiring no further explanations. So chaste was their embrace, that the old grandam suddenly awaking, they remained before her as they were without any confusion or embarrassment.
CHAPTER VI THE BRIDAL
It was six days before the sailing for Iceland. Their wedding procession was returning from Ploubazlanec Church, driven before a furious wind, under a sombre, rain-laden sky.
They looked very handsome, nevertheless, as they walked along as in a dream, arm-in-arm, like king and queen leading a long cortege. Calm, reserved, and grave, they seemed to see nothing about them; as if they were above ordinary life and everybody else. The very wind seemed to respect them, while behind them their "train" was a jolly medley of laughing couples, tumbled and buffeted by the angry western gale.
Many people were present, overflowing with young life; others turning gray, but these still smiled as they thought of /their/ wedding-day and younger years. Granny Yvonne was there and following, too, panting a little, but something like happy, hanging on the arm of an old uncle of Yann's, who was paying her old-fashioned compliments. She wore a grand new cap, bought for the occasion, and her tiny shawl, which had been dyed a third time, and black, because of Sylvestre.
The wind worried everybody; dresses and skirts, bonnets and /coiffes/, were similarly tossed about mercilessly.
At the church door, the newly married couple, pursuant to custom, had bought two nosegays of artificial flowers,