She was civilised, poor soul, and here they were a stone's throw from the cure and the church! Gaston and Andree, refreshed, travelled down the long steps to the village, over the place, along the quay, to the lighthouse and the beach, through crowds of sardine fishers and simple hard-tongued Bretons.

Cheerful, buoyant at dinner, there now came upon the girl an intense quiet and fatigue.

She stood and looked long at the sea.

Gaston tried to rouse her.
"This is your native Brittany, Andree," he said.

She pointed far over the sea: "Near that light at Penmark I was born." "Can you speak the Breton language ?" "Far worse than you speak Parisian French." He laughed.