Outside, the gray mist of the dawn fell over the land, and the dead
leaves were again blown dancingly into the porch.
Steps on the footpath! Somebody was coming? She rose, and quickly
smoothed down her cap and composed her face. Nearer drew the steps.
She assumed the air of one who might be there by chance; for above all,
she did not wish to appear yet like the widow of a shipwrecked mariner.
It happened to be Fante Floury, the wife of the second mate of the
_Leopoldine_. She understood immediately what Gaud was doing there: it
was useless to dissemble with her. At first each woman stood
speechless before the other. They were angry and almost hated each
other for having met holding a like sentiment of apprehension.
"All the men of Treguier and Saint-Brieuc have been back for a week,"
said Fante at last, in an unfeeling, muffled, half-irritated voice.
She carried a blessed taper in her hand, to offer up a prayer. Gaud
did not wish yet to resort to that extreme resource of despairing
wives. Yet silently she entered the chapel behind Fante, and they
knelt down together side by side like two sisters.
To the _Star of the Sea_ they offered ardent imploring prayers, with
their whole soul in them.
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