XiB^
 
 BSRTRAND 
 
 ACRES C --- 
 MO. FAC " . 
 . :-
 
 THE 
 
 * CALJFOtftftii 
 
 JOHN D. MERSfcRtAU.
 
 GUENN 
 
 A WAVE ON THE BRETON COAST 
 
 BY 
 
 BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD 
 
 AUTHOR OF "AUNT SERENA," "ONE SUMMER," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 
 1884
 
 Copyright, 1S83, 
 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 UNIVERSITY PRESS: 
 JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
 
 "Saints de mon pays, secourez-rnoi ! 
 Les saints de ce pays ne me connaissent pas." 
 
 BKETON PILGRIM S PRAYER. 
 
 2061920
 
 G U E 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 ATE one September after 
 noon a small red and yel 
 low omnibus drew up noisily 
 and discharged its passen 
 gers before the Hotel des 
 Voyageurs, in the Breton 
 village of Plouvenec. From 
 the nearest railwaj -station 
 to this region of ignorance, 
 superstition, and picturesque 
 beauty, endless white roads 
 
 stretched away between fosses or embankments 01 
 granite and turf six feet high, luxuriantly overgrown 
 with moss and vines, and crowned by the great muti 
 lated oak-trunks which distinctively mark the Breton 
 landscape.
 
 2 GUENN. 
 
 During a drive of four hours the box-like vehicle 
 had mercilessly shaken its contents together ; and Mr. 
 Everett Hamor had felt that there might be a certain 
 difficult} in finally extricating himself from the vivid 
 samples of the commercial-traveller, with whose elbows, 
 knees, high-colored neckties, and valises he was fre 
 quently in confusing juxtaposition. Arriving, he was 
 relieved to find that he could still verify his identit.y. 
 Stretching his long, cramped legs with satisfaction, he 
 stood a moment at his ease and looked about him. 
 
 The village fathers were sitting at little tables in front 
 of the cafe of the Voyageurs, regaling themselves with 
 absinthe, vermouth, and stale politics. In Plouvenec, 
 beside dram-shops of startling frequency, there were 
 two cafes of distinction. Certain prominent person 
 ages left one, only to walk across the common to the 
 other. There was a tide in the affairs of the cafes, 
 each day a regularly recurring ebb and flow of popular 
 ity. Ebb-tide at the Voyageurs meant high-tide at the 
 Grand, and vice versa. It was flood-tide at the Vova- 
 geurs when Hamor arrived. 
 
 " Another fool of a painter down from Paris," was the 
 tacit comment of the Plouvenec worthies, as he secured 
 his traps, and, with a quick glance up and down the 
 convivial tables and in the cafe windows, passed on to 
 meet madame standing in the doorway. Madame was 
 then and there a woman much to Ilamor s taste, and 
 time but confirmed his impression of her estimable 
 qualities; while she, for her part, never ceased to 
 regard the young man with the calm smile of approval 
 which she was now bestowing upon him, as they inter 
 changed ideas in respect to rooms. 
 
 Madame had the air of a Roman matron in a Bre- 
 tonne coiffe. Five feet and eight inches in height, of
 
 GUENN. 3 
 
 massive proportions, impressively handsome, and strong 
 enough to throw a too noisy inebriate out of the win 
 dow without shortening her breath or heightening her 
 color, she was one of the happy few whom destiny 
 adapts to their surroundings. 
 
 No one had ever seen or desired to see her angr}-. 
 Madarne s personalit} 1 was too potent in its calm for a 
 wise man to care to brave its storm. She had singularly 
 wide-open brown 63*68, whose soft unswerving gaze, 
 turned broadly upon the village Falstaff and his recruits, 
 caused panic in their ranks, and disorderly retreat. 
 Beneath the edge of her white coiffe, smooth bands of 
 dark hair lay close on her imperturbable forehead. 
 Placidity and power were expressed in all her move 
 ments. In short, madame was a newly discovered Fate, 
 whom to defy were madness. There was a monsieur, a 
 large and plethoric man, rarely seen. It was not known 
 for what purpose he was emploj ed in madame s menage. 
 There were also seven children, in a more or less thriving 
 condition, never known to visibly occupy their mamma s 
 attention. She was supposed to provide for them 
 according to some vast and inscrutable method No 
 weakness of the ordinary mother, solicitous about 
 mending Jack s manners and socks, could be imputed 
 to her. 
 
 Madame and Hamor were then mutually gratified. 
 She classified him as a handsome and amiable young 
 fellow, who would give little trouble and in all prob 
 ability pay his bills. He saw before him a comely 
 woman of superior" nerve, who would care for his 
 creature-comforts, and never come to him weeping and 
 demanding sympathy as the rustic landlady, according 
 to his experience, was prone to do in hot and crowded 
 seasons. He disliked demands upon his sympathy.
 
 4 GUENN. 
 
 Whether because he possessed too large or too small a 
 supply, he had never asked himself. 
 
 From her finely intelligent replies, he learned that 
 his friends were at work at some distance from the 
 village. Having lunched to his satisfaction, he lighted 
 a cigarette and sauntered out. 
 
 Before him was an open square, hard with the tread 
 of many sabots. Near the inn stood a couple of oaks. 
 Beyond, no trees, no shrub or turf, relieved the barren 
 ness of the expanse of earth, which bore the resounding 
 name, la Place Nationale, otherwise the village 
 common, where markets, menageries, gavottes, games 
 and wrestling matches, wax-figures, Robert Macaires, 
 and every species of public entertainment known to 
 Plouvenec, were wont to appear. Directly across the 
 common was a gleam of water, from which rose low 
 crenellated walls of granite, flanked by towers and 
 broad ramparts. Over the battlements was a glimpse 
 of tree-tops and steep roofs, clustering around one 
 church-spire. 
 
 Plouvenec, the ancient town, with its one irregular 
 street of crowded houses, stood on an island encircled 
 b} T a broad arm of the sea, and connected with the mod 
 ern village only by a drawbridge. The fortress was 
 quaint, ugly, and suggestive. It knew more than five 
 centuries of history, and the doughty deeds of the many 
 wars which during that time convulsed Brittany. Du 
 Guesclin, De Rohan, and many gallant soldiers had 
 besieged and occupied it, and enriched its memories. 
 Old tales, less creditable to its reputation, relate grimly 
 that, as early as the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, 
 thieves, cut-throats, and any gentleman who had mur 
 dered his friend or committed some other base and un 
 pardonable crime, sought refuge among the notorious
 
 GUENN. 5 
 
 rascals sheltered behind the stout walls of Plouvenec. 
 Like many another old sinner, it now wore, in spite of its 
 scandalous past, an air of sullen and forbidding moralitj . 
 Its sunrise gun, its bugle-call, its score of soldiers, 
 in baggy scarlet trousers, marching under the portcullis 
 and over the drawbridge, to perform somewhat languid 
 evolutions on the common, seemed a tribute to what 
 had been, rather than discipline demanded by any 
 present or anticipated need. Rumors of war were far 
 remote from the dull little island citadel. Its grass- 
 grown ramparts commanded broad and peaceful waters, 
 furrowed only by the fishing-boats of the village. 
 
 Hamor passed slowly down the long village street. 
 On one side was a row of small white houses with steep 
 gables. On the other, boats were crowded along the 
 quay, with fishing-nets hanging to dry on the masts, 
 and waving slightly with a shadow}* effect. 
 
 The street was very quiet. An old woman in sabots 
 hobbled by. A group of dirty and pretty little girls, 
 each with a knitting-needle over her right ear for safe 
 keeping, or run through the top of her coiffe, sat on the 
 ground playing jackstones. Small cabins stood in a line 
 along the quay farther down. A sharp salt smell filled 
 the air, and the incoming tide was impatient^ washing 
 the mighty foundations of the granite digue. The street 
 rounded a point, and ran into a long road by the bay. 
 
 Here people were standing waiting, while hundreds 
 of fishing-boats, bringing food and work and traffic, 
 were coming in. It was the life of Plouvenec drawing 
 near. Over the broad bay the boats came floating like 
 a flock of great, slow birds. The low light caught their 
 dusky red sails, and warmed them to a deeper signifi 
 cance. The sun hung far down in the western sky, 
 and sent one broad golden shaft straight along the
 
 6 GUENN. 
 
 surface of the water, to lose itself in rich masses of shin 
 ing j ellow seaweed, that covered the great rocks at 
 Hamor s feet. The sky was gray, and tranquil and 
 tender. Faint rosy clouds drifted together over a dark 
 promontory in the distance, and fluttered about a bold 
 procession of pines on a hill near by, their stems all 
 leaning landward, as if marching hurriedly away from 
 the pursuing sea. Far away to the west the long land- 
 line was strongly blue. 
 
 On the low wall between the road and the beach 
 perched groups of women, knitting, chattering, making 
 bold jokes, telling scandalous stories, laughing noisily. 
 They were fisher-girls, employed in the sardine packing 
 houses across the wa} r . Harnor, also seated on the 
 wall, listened to them half unconsciously, viewed them 
 as a part of the landscape. Their caps were luminous 
 bits of white. Their faded colors were charming against 
 the gray stone. So much he perceived, merely as he 
 saw the empty packing-houses, with long low rooms, 
 where soon the chattering women would be at work, 
 the advancing waves break on the beach, the pale clouds 
 hovering over the hill, the long road curving towards 
 shining sands ; and, as far as the eye could reach, the 
 sardine-boats, a long perspective of slowly advancing 
 luggers, all heading towards the quay, all running in 
 with lazy sail on a wind from the sea, a wind that came 
 from be3 T ond the Lannions, the group of barren islands 
 fur awa}-, whose line was barely perceptible on the lori- 
 zon, and whose brave light, even as Ilamor looked, 
 flashed into existence, and flung its cheery greeting to 
 the sailor- world. 
 
 The young painter was moved to mild retrospection. 
 He remembered certain pretty girls he had known, 
 lightly yet not unkindly doubting whether they were
 
 GUENN. 7 
 
 quite as charming as they had seemed. He recalled 
 a solitary mountain-peak, whose noble shape and snowy 
 summit he had watched mornings and evenings during 
 a long season of rough California life. It did not occur 
 to him to doubt the transcendent loveliness of Mount 
 Shasta. Harnor worshipped Nature. He had never 
 worshipped a woman. 
 
 Rising, he walked slowly on, smoking still, glancing 
 critically at the knots of women. As he passed, some 
 made remarks in Breton and giggled obtrusively, some 
 stared at him stolidly, others with evident dislike, or 
 coarse admiration. They were fisher- folk, wives, sis 
 ters, and daughters of rough men, who worked hard at 
 sea and drank hard on land. Man}*, it may be the 
 most of them, were innocent in life or thought ; but 
 hardly one could be quite ignorant of vice. Impure 
 influences hovered round their very cradles. Drunken 
 ness, brutality, vile language, wife-beating, brawls, and 
 murderous assaults were as familiar to their earliest 
 years, as its mother s face and sweet lullaby to a happy 
 child. The} knew only this life which surrounded them, 
 and habit had made them indifferent to scenes that ought 
 to chill a young girl s blood with horror. But a little 
 distance from the village, and peasant-women, on broad 
 farms, were dutiful, innocent, gentle, as the ideal country 
 maiden need be. Here in turbulent Plouvenec, fate 
 had exposed girls to evil with as much assiduity as she 
 guards others from it. They had never had the chance 
 to be what we call respectable. Yet among these coarse 
 women and girls waiting on the wall, while the red- 
 sailed boats came steadily on over the sunset-lighted 
 bay, there were faces as pure and proud as the face of 
 a young duchess, eyes that were bold yet honest and 
 fresh ; there were the beautiful curves and free vigorous
 
 8 GUENN. 
 
 limbs of youth and perfect health ; while the sun and 
 Wind and weather, which browned and roughened their 
 cheeks, had faded their kerchiefs, once of glaring colors, 
 down to a gentle and harmonious indistinctness ; and 
 they all wore their simple and beautiful coiffe, which 
 softens heavy peasant-features marked b}* toil and 
 time, refines the coarse, and lends an indefinable charm 
 of delicacy and tenderness to a fresh young face. 
 
 Hamor, as he regarded them, was moved by the 
 pure enthusiasm of the artist. No psychological prob 
 lems occupied him, no benevolent probings into their 
 sufferings, experiences, and possibilities. Pie was sim 
 ply and greatly pleased with their colors and contours ; 
 and his handsome young face expressed vivid aesthetic 
 satisfaction, which the uninitiated might easily construe 
 as personal, rather than objective and elevated. The 
 women saw the look in his eyes, and, woman-like, 
 misinterpreted it. They became aware of this friendly 
 young gentleman s approval, and their laughter and 
 movements betrayed a certain consciousness of his 
 presence. In rude play, a close circle was formed 
 concealing one of their number from his view. They 
 looked at him over their shoulders in high glee. Sud 
 denly, as if by military command, the circle broke. 
 The women, with shrieks of coarse laughter, scattered 
 to the right and left. A small, black-cloth object flew 
 through the air and dropped near him ; when Hamor 
 perceived directly before him, alone and abandoned, a 
 little figure, with a heavy mane of long brown hair, fall-i 
 ing on either side of the fiercest eyes it had ever been 
 his lot to see in a girl s face. Transfixed with confusion 
 and rage, she glared at the unoffending stranger as if he 
 were the exclusive author of her woes. 
 
 "By Jove, what a model!" and Hamor stopped
 
 GUENN. 9 
 
 short. She was scarcely seventeen. A broad kerchief, 
 of softly blending reds, was folded over her pretty 
 shoulders and down to her slender waist. Her short 
 woollen skirts hung in dark folds, which defined her 
 shape with the unreserve of intimate acquaintance, as 
 long- worn, much-patched garments are apt to do ; and 
 she stood in her little sabots, with a bold grace only 
 possible to a girl who, consciously or unconsciously, has 
 never studied the proprieties. One small rough hand 
 clutched her coiife. The other was raised to her head, 
 while from under her lifted elbow she scowled at 
 Hamor ; and all her brown, shining hair, down to its 
 gleaming, russet ends, hung loose before the strange 
 man. 
 
 He stooped and mechanically picked up the black 
 skull-cap lying at his feet, inspecting it serioushy. At 
 this the women shrieked anew, and doubled themselves 
 up in uncouth mirth. 
 
 "This is 3 ours?" he said, approaching the girl, 
 and now observing other caps upon the grass near her. 
 He looked at her kindly. It was his way with children, 
 and she seemed like a child to him. In his expression, 
 as he held the cap towards her, was the quiet scrutiny of 
 the artist and the habitual courtesy of a well-bred 
 man. She did not know what courtesy meant. It was 
 extraneous to the Pkmvenec fish-wife sphere. She 
 thought that he was mocking her. Snatching the cap 
 rudely from his hand, her angry blue eyes flung at him 
 their parting message of hate and defiance. 
 
 "You, you mind your own business!" she said 
 passionately, in rapid, indistinct Breton-French ; and, 
 with one swift motion, sprang towards the women who 
 had played her false, upbraiding them, now that she had 
 found her tongue, in no measured terms. Her com-
 
 10 GUENN. 
 
 panions, pleased with the delicate humor and success 
 of their practical joke, were apparently willing enough 
 now to form themselves into a dressing-room for the 
 convenience of the dishevelled little maid, who, with all 
 her great rage and small caps, disappeared from Haraor s 
 view. Within the stalwart circle the angry child was 
 pouring forth volleys of invective and reproach in her 
 native Breton tongue, which, though verbalty unintelli 
 gible to Hamor, could not fail to impress him as singu 
 larly adapted to the expression of ungovernable rage. 
 Amused and curious, he was disposed to sta} r and 
 watch her complete her toilette, which had for him 
 the interest of any other unsolved problem. 
 
 There was, to the inexperienced eyes of the young 
 man, an attractive incompatibility between the diminu 
 tive head-gear and the amount of hair to be secreted 
 within it. The multiplicity of caps also bewildered 
 him. But feeling somewhat out of place, and having no 
 desire to prolong her agitation, he went tranquilly on. 
 
 " That girl must pose for me. She is a nice little 
 thing. She s amusing," he concluded. Leaving the 
 quarrelling fish-women far behind, he followed the road 
 along the curving shore until he reached a dusky 
 beach, where his tread sank noiselessly in the sand, the 
 waves broke with a soft plash, and the subtle evening 
 was creeping over land and sea. 
 
 Unconscious of distance, he walked on until a tower 
 ing pile of crags suggested itself with sombre eloquence 
 in the twilight as a fitting terminus to his wanderings. 
 He turned and went inland. Broad meadows, tufted 
 with heather, mullein, and brake, succeeded to the dunes. 
 Narrow stony paths led him along fields and intimately 
 between giant hay-stacks, and past the very threshold 
 of some isolated cottage where the day s toil was
 
 GUENN. 11 
 
 already merging into heavy rest, and only the dusky 
 figure of a belated peasant, and his mechanical greeting, 
 Doves mat dor ch, introduced brief life and movement 
 into the stillness. The village lights shone feebly far 
 awa} r . Long roads between high, granite garden-walls, 
 over which the foliage leaned in dense shapes, led 
 down towards the village-centre. 
 
 He returned to the hotel. Here, except for the ap 
 proach of evening, the only perceptible change was that 
 the men, who had been drinking vermouth and absinthe 
 at the door, were now drinking absinthe and vermouth 
 in the cafe. 
 
 Madame met him in the corridor, with her discrimina 
 ting smile. It was not a broadly defined, unreserved 
 smile, but slow and sphinx-like. She smiled to herself, 
 not at 3*0 u. 
 
 "Monsieur s friends are not yet come. They do not 
 expect monsieur to-day, probably." 
 
 "You do not know if Mr. Staunton received my 
 dispatch last night ?" 
 
 "There is one here for him," she answered encour 
 agingly; "but it was not delivered until after he was 
 gone this morning." 
 
 II amor smiled. 
 
 "Madame the postmistress is very clever and amia 
 ble," announced the landlady. 
 
 Hamor politely remarked that he had no reason to 
 doubt it. 
 
 " But perhaps a little distraite," she continued 
 gently. 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 "It is therefore well when messieurs les artistes 
 give themselves the trouble to beg her to concentrate 
 herself."
 
 12 GUENN. 
 
 Madame was standing now in a doorwa} , and seemed 
 to support her whole domicil. 
 
 " Superb caryatid ! " thought Ilamor. 
 
 " And is your postmistress apt to be distraite with let 
 ters too ? " he asked good-humoredly. 
 
 " There are moments when it is possible for her to be 
 distraite with letters also," madame admitted, her broad, 
 unconscious gaze turned full upon the young man. 
 "Clever people are often distraits," she added mildl} . 
 Then : " But monsieur without doubt has been to see the 
 fish? No? They have had a good catch. The stran 
 gers find it interesting. Monsieur would do well to take 
 a turn down the quay." 
 
 Confident that this admirable woman would recom 
 mend nothing insignificant to his notice, he thanked her, 
 and went cheerfully out. 
 
 The deserted street along the qua}*, where he had 
 strolled not many hours before, was now teeming with 
 life. It was the Fish-corner of Plouvenec as supreme 
 in power and interest to the village, as is the Exchange of 
 a great city to its speculators and capitalists. The boats 
 were mostly in ; some, still arriving, met, as soon as they 
 neared the shore, with calls, inquiries, and proposals. 
 People were hurrying to and fro with long flat baskets of 
 sardines. Women knelt recounting fish, flinging, for 
 every ten in one basket, one as tally into another. The 
 buyers cabins were lighted, and instinct with the spirit 
 of traffic. Beside fishermen, buyers and sellers of sar 
 dines, men and women employed in the usines, was an 
 outer circle of lookers-on. The judge of the peace 
 short, burly and plausible, concealing a small nature be 
 hind a large smile had come down from the cafe. A 
 brace of influential burghers whose monarchical prin 
 ciples, dormant mornings, swelled and grew blatant every
 
 GUENN. 13 
 
 evening after invigorating baths of absinthe accompa 
 nied him. The judge, peasant-born and self-educated, 
 had gained by his own solid exertion his comfortable 
 niche in the world s municipal wall, and regarded himself 
 as indispensable to the safety of the French Republic. 
 His patriotism however was tempered with love of popu 
 larity, and he never expressed himself too decidedly in 
 the presence of his Roj alist boon-companions. He 
 found consolation in the reflection that the Republic 
 seemed as yet placidly unaware that Plouvenec was bat 
 tering at its outposts, and that his friends weapons grew 
 rustier as the years rolled by. His conception of the du 
 ties of his office led him always to decide in favor of both 
 contesting parties, or of neither of them. This original 
 method of dispensing justice he practised with much in- 
 genuit} . In the case of angry peasants it was eminently 
 successful ; as, however much the} might pommel each 
 other, they were never inclined to pommel the judge, but 
 were deeply impressed with his equity and wisdom. He 
 was thus enabled to retain the good- will and respect of a 
 somewhat turbulent neighborhood. When he saw two 
 men fighting, he usually moved gently off in an opposite 
 direction. The chief of the police, a slight 3 oung man 
 with a mild face and no uniform, had also strolled down 
 to the Fish-corner, and two of the ubiquitous gendarme- 
 species as usual in country-places, oblivious of their 
 surroundings stood obstructively about. 
 
 Hamor saw too, and quickly lost sight of, some young 
 men whose brown velveteens and expression of ani 
 mated, pleased inquiry proclaimed them painters. He 
 also observed an elderly tourist who, having inadver 
 tently found himself among vulgar people, was hurrying 
 awa}-, with an air of discomfort and reproach upon his 
 respectable features.
 
 14 GUENN. 
 
 Young coiffed girls, linked together in long twining 
 rows, as is girl-fashion wherever girls grow, and gam 
 ins, darting about with shrill street-songs and coarse 
 street-wit, completed the scene. 
 
 Now, fleeting single impressions fascinated Ilamor ; 
 now, it was the effect of the whole which interested him 
 profound!} . Continually changing, increasing, de 
 creasing, and swaying, inconstant, imperious, charged 
 with excitement, hoarse voices rising in angry crescen 
 do, the mob seemed like one huge, fierce, multiform, 
 protean, living thing. 
 
 The row of high gabled houses held aloft dim lanterns, 
 which cast sickly yellow beams upon the faces beneath. 
 Through the glass door of a drink-shop came an orange 
 glow, and the muffled sounds of interior life. Phantom- 
 like ships lay along the quaj T in intense shadow. The 
 ancient citadel slumbered upon its island. Over the 
 black waters, on the other shore, were long, still reaches, 
 where weary peasants slept among their fosses ; and an 
 cient Druid stones raised themselves sternly under silent 
 heavens. Beyond the digue throbbed the ocean, in the 
 mystery of night and distance. 
 
 The black mass of human life surged and swaj ed. 
 An angry woman rose from among the kneeling fish 
 wives. Cursing and heaping invective upon a neighbor, 
 her figure dark for a moment against the white houses 
 and the lights, she fell back into her place. Two men, 
 quarrelling about the counting, grappled with each other 
 and disappeared, rolling over in the shadow. The bu}*- 
 ing and selling and counting went steadily on ; and, 
 above the rough cries, Hamor heard the young girls 
 high voices chanting a hymn to Our Lady of the Sea. 
 
 A violent push, followed by an opening in the crowd 
 near him, seemed to suddenly transform him from a mere
 
 GUENN. 15 
 
 spectator into a constituent. Two fighting men emerged 
 from the general indistinctness into ugly prominence. 
 The bystanders accorded them respectful attention, from 
 which Hamor inferred that they were well-known char 
 acters, it might be, possessed of chronic combative- 
 ness, like two rival watch-dogs in a small neighborhood. 
 One was a short, thick-set sailor, between fort}* and 
 fifty, whose open jerse} r displayed his powerful throat 
 and chest. As he turned awkwardly, now towards, now 
 from the light, cursing in drunken fury, his stupid fist 
 occasionally hitting his man, oftener plunging aimlessly 
 about, Hamor thought he had never seen a more vicious- 
 looking brute. The other was younger, taller, and less 
 strong, but held his own tolerably well. Both were very 
 drunk, and neither knew how to fight. 
 
 Hamor watched them with extreme disgust, and a de 
 sire to interfere which he found difficult to restrain. As 
 long as they were content with an unskilful belaboring 
 of each other s persons with the natural weapon, the 
 fist, he stood b}*, passive. When, however, the short 
 man, bj* an evil inspiration, kicked his opponent, threw 
 him flat, and began trampling upon him with his sabots, 
 he found himself promptly seized from behind and drawn 
 off, his elbows pinioned in an uncompromising grip, in 
 spite of his fierce struggles. Meanwhile the prostrate 
 man was again on his feet, demanding his enen\y. 
 Finding him now an easy prey, he struck him full 
 in the face. 
 
 "Let him alone, you coward ! " exclaimed Hamor, his 
 own mettle well roused. 
 
 "Keep this fellow back, some of you, can t } ou?" he 
 cried to the unresponsive crowd. Then, to the strug 
 gling man : "I will let you go when you are quiet, not 
 before do you hear?" Observing a dangerous look in
 
 16 GUENN. 
 
 the eyes of the attacking party, and an uplifted arm, he 
 swung his prisoner round to save him from the blow. 
 Powerless himself to parr}-, he moved as best he could 
 to avoid it, and the next instant found himself unharmed 
 and untouched. He turned, and perceived, with a feel 
 ing of strong surprise, the all-sufficient cause of the 
 cessation of hostilities. A tall dark man, in a priest s 
 cassock, was restraining the sailor, not by sacerdotal 
 authority, but by the strength of his excellent biceps. 
 Hamor involuntarily released his prisoner. 
 
 " Hoe l," said the young priest, " 3*011 know it s no use. 
 I am stronger than 3-011. When I let 3-0 u free, 3-011 are 
 to go home. You are not to speak to an}" one on the 
 road. If 3-011 speak you will fight. Come, come!" 
 and throwing his arm round the man s shoulders, still 
 guarding him well, talking alwa3 s, soothing him, he 
 marched him through the crowd, pointed him in the 
 right direction, and sent him off towards home. 
 
 "Remember, no talking by the way ! " Hoe l walked 
 a few steps, stopped, and burst into maudlin tears. "I 
 haven t anything against Rodellec. He s my friend. 
 You re my friend. We are all friends, monsieur le rec- 
 teur, all good Bretons. But when Rodellec says " 
 
 "Never mind Rodellec. You may tell me about him 
 another day. You go home now, and try to keep quiet. 
 I will see to Rodellec. Trust me for that," said the cure 
 grimly. 
 
 Presently Hamor saw the dark face and broad shoul 
 ders of the priest returning, and observed in his walk a 
 curious sailor-swing. 
 
 Hamor s sailor in the meantime stood sullenly consid 
 ering the feasibility of attacking the stranger. The tall 
 priest, looking neither to the right nor left, bore straight 
 down upon his countryman.
 
 GUENN. 17 
 
 " Rodellec, go home ! " he said, not ungentty, but 
 with a distinct tone of command. You ve caught 
 enough fish, and had enough drink and fighting. Go 
 home now, and sleep it off." The light from the near 
 est lantern shone on his grave and striking face. 
 
 Rodellec, with profuse oaths, demurred. He would 
 break Hoel s head first, and he would break anj-body s 
 head who tried to stop him. Scowling, and supported 
 on the arms of his friends, he was edging along towards 
 Hamor. 
 
 "I shall not fight } ou," said the young man coldly. 
 "I have no quarrel with 3-011, you know. But whenever 
 I see you stamping on a man s face with your sabots, I 
 shall stop it if I can." 
 
 "Damn you !" said Rodellec, advancing. 
 
 But the priest, who had been intently watching each 
 speaker s face, now stepped forward and stood beside 
 Hamor. 
 
 " Go home, I tell you Herve ! " His voice was stern 
 and imperious. He towered above the sailors, his 
 head thrown back, a flash of honest anger in his eyes. 
 " Shame, Rodellec ! and shame on the rest of you men, 
 that you urge him on. Stand back, I say. You must 
 be drunk, indeed, if you let me speak twice. What 
 you, Alain? You, Jean? And Michel, too? Back, all 
 of 3-011 ! Back, Loic ! " 
 
 The men drew back abashed ; only Rodellec held 
 his ground, snarling viciously. 
 
 Do you dare to refuse me ? " 
 
 Rodellec evidently dared to refuse a^ bod} 7 . He 
 was measuring the two men with his 63-68, painful^ 
 speculating upon his chances of success, in case he 
 should attack the Church Militant. "Man fights a 
 priest; priest fights a man," he muttered sullenly. 
 
 2
 
 18 GUENN. 
 
 "Bad for man. Saints and angels stand by priest; 
 devil stands by man! Odds against me and the 
 stranger clutches like a fiend." 
 
 The two young men exchanged an involuntary smile. 
 Then the priest said more kindly : " Priests don t fight, 
 Rodellec, as you know when you are sober. They 
 keep others from fighting if they are strong enough ; 
 and happily they are sometimes," he added, drawing up 
 his powerful figure. "Go, Herve. You d better go 
 now, you see." 
 
 Growling a parting round of blasphemies and male 
 dictions, Rodellec snatched his beret from a friend s 
 hand, and stumbled off. 
 
 A light little figure pressed quickly through the crowd 
 and followed him. Hamor recognized the girl he had 
 seen on the shore, with the loose hair. He knew her 
 by her eyes. Now all the shining hair was out of 
 sight, and the demure white coiffe, with its pure oval, 
 framed the young face. She met his glance with a 
 hard, bold stare, but when she greeted the priest a warm 
 smile broke over her defiant eyes and set mouth. 
 
 " Bonsoir, monsieur le recteur," she said modestly, 
 making her little reverence, and was gone. Hamor 
 turned to his neighbor. He was looking gravely after 
 the girl. From the shadow a grotesque hump-backed 
 figure leaped after her, with a whoop. Now they were 
 lost in the darkness. Now the light from a lantern on 
 the next house fell upon them, the two children hand 
 in hand, the girl walking stolidly beside her father, 
 who was gesticulating and apparently swearing at her. 
 
 " Monsieur le cure," began Hamor cordialh*, his 
 hand outstretched, " at last I have the opportunity to 
 thank you and " 
 
 "It was nothing, nothing at all," returned the priest
 
 GUENN. 19 
 
 abruptly, looking as if he would like to save himself as 
 soon as possible. His air of authority was gone. Here 
 was merely a simple country cure", ej ing the foreigner 
 with ill-concealed suspicion and race-prejudice. " It 
 was nothing, I assure you, monsieur," he repeated 
 uneasily. 
 
 "I admit it was not much," said Hamor gravel} 7 " ; 
 "but let us be just, it was my head." His manner 
 was easy and winning. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur ! 
 
 "And great was my relief when I found it was all 
 there, and saw so important an ally my defences 
 being occupied at the moment." 
 
 The priest smiled. 
 
 "Monsieur also did very well," he said simp!} . 
 " Rodellec is strong. Monsieur is a stranger, I per 
 ceive. An Englishman, perhaps?" 
 
 "An English-speaking person, but not an English 
 man ; I am an American. However, that is all the 
 same thing to } T OU, I pi-esume." 
 
 On the contrary, I am much interested in your 
 America," returned the cure. " I have read the history 
 of j-our war. Is monsieur from North or South Amer 
 ica?" he inquired courteous!}*. 
 
 Aware of the utter futilit}- of any attempt to rectify 
 this error, which, with all its grand geographical vague 
 ness, he had heard a dozen times before in France, 
 Hamor replied that he was from the North ; briefly 
 adding that he was an artist, had studied several years 
 in Paris, and had arrived only that day in Plouvenec. 
 
 Then I regret that you have met with precisely this 
 welcome." The cure was no longer abrupt and embar 
 rassed. He was speaking now with a fine simplicity. 
 His dark face was singularly brilliant. His height and
 
 20 GUENN. 
 
 carriage made him a most striking figure. " They are 
 not bad fellows our sailors when they are not 
 drunk." 
 
 " But they are usually drunk, are they not?" Hamor 
 ventured to say. 
 
 " Well yes, too often, always, after a heavy catch," 
 was the frank reply. 
 
 "This is a most curious, interesting scene here to 
 night." 
 
 " You find it so, monsieur?" said the priest, with an 
 imation. "I I love it; but I am a Breton; you 
 could not be expected to see it as I do ! " 
 
 " And yet it may be that our impressions of it do not 
 differ much," replied Hamor, intent upon studj ing the 
 priest s face, and talking quite at random. 
 
 "Impressions?" The cure frowned slightly. "I 
 have no impressions. I am in it of it. I am of the 
 people, monsieur. It is the pulse of the people beating 
 here, I feel it." 
 
 "And I?" Hamor asked, with a smile, "I am 
 sure I feel it too." 
 
 "Ah you feel the pulse like a doctor, monsieur, and 
 count it cleverly, it may be. I beat with it ! " 
 
 "But," said Hamor, with good-humored expostula 
 tion, "you can t expect me to beat with it all at once. 
 If I do not beat, I ve been at least almost beaten." 
 
 "You are right, monsieur. It is perfectly natural 
 that strangers should regard it as a spectacle. Ah, I 
 forget that too often ! " Then smiling, and with what 
 Hamor thought the most charming manner in the 
 world: "I am not much used to strangers. I am apt 
 to be impatient of strangers. And the truth is, mon 
 sieur, we Bretons are a stubborn, prejudiced race." 
 
 "Well, so are we," returned Hamor, laughing a
 
 GUENN. 21 
 
 little. " In fact, I have yet to discover the race that 
 is not. I was about to ask you, monsieur le cure, 
 how many fish the} have caught to-day." 
 
 "Fifteen thousand to a boat the largest catch of 
 the season." 
 
 "Ah! then a little elation is pardonable. And you 
 called the man my man Rodellec, I believe." 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, Herve Rodellec." 
 
 " And the young girl with him ? Is she his daughter ? " 
 
 The cure turned awa} r from the light. "That was 
 Guenn," he said slowly, " Guenn Rodellec." 
 
 " A most remarkable-looking girl, a beautiful girl," 
 Hamor rejoined with emphasis. 
 
 There was a slight pause. "Monsieur will pardon 
 me," the cure began hurriedly. " The people seem to 
 be scattering. There are some men I must see. I have 
 the honor to wish monsieur a veiy good-evening " 
 
 " Oh, don t let me detain you," Hamor returned cor- 
 dialty ; " but may I not say au revoir? You will allow 
 me to call and pay my respects? I shall not forget 
 what } ou have done for me. And although I am a 
 stranger," he laughed pleasantly, "I am going to 
 be a regular Breton before long." 
 
 "Monsieur is too amiable," and the priest gave a 
 deprecating gesture. Then, since it was a question of 
 hospitality: "It would give me pleasure to see you. 
 But I do not live in Plouvenec. Monsieur will have the 
 trouble of finding me on my islands. Permit me " 
 extending his card. Making kind yet somewhat for 
 mal adieux, he walked rapidly away, with his sailor-gait 
 and his long, swinging soutane. 
 
 Hamor held the card up to the first available light, 
 and read : 
 
 TIIYMERT 
 Recteur des Lannions.
 
 22 
 
 GUENN. 
 
 " Thymert, Recteur of the Lannions, whatever 
 they may be, you re the type I ve been looking 
 for. Monsieur, I am of the people ! Magnificent pose, 
 and the pride of a cardinal." With a well-pleased 
 smile he walked back to the inn. He believed in 
 his star.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 VERETT HA- 
 MOR S domi 
 nant mental 
 quality was un 
 bounded faith 
 in his own fu 
 ture. The conviction of 
 coming greatness, which 
 had buoyantly sustained 
 him during a long period 
 of probation, not being 
 uncommon to ambitious 
 young painters of six or 
 seven and twenty, 
 might have been regard 
 ed by sober maturity with 
 the pitying indulgence it is apt to accord to the 
 vast dreams of youth, had not his devotion to his art, 
 and his stern power of immolating upon its altar all 
 things liable to distract his worship, seemed to impart 
 to his aspirations a certain clear tone of prophecy. 
 He had been heard to make the savage assertion that to 
 reach his goal he would not hesitate to walk over the 
 bodies of babes and virgins. Now no man could be 
 more uniformly gentle than he to these tender classes
 
 24 GUENN. 
 
 of beings, and it is open to doubt whether he would 
 have been practical!}* able to take so inhuman a prome 
 nade, even to gain the height where Titian stands. Life 
 had as yet demanded of him no fatal sacrifice. It had 
 however led him by somewhat devious paths to his 
 present position. 
 
 His childhood was that of a New England boy, who 
 lives in a classic old town, of whose earl}- histon" and 
 honorable tradition his family has always been a dis 
 tinguished element. The influences of such a sheltered 
 home reach tenaciously into one s farthest future. 
 
 When he went to college he was somewhat delicate 
 physical!} , sensitive, timid, and unusually ignorant of 
 life. He had been reared exclusively by gentle, con 
 scientious, and clever women. With his first plunge 
 into the world, he met with various rude shocks, some 
 of which harmed him, while some proved of incalculable 
 benefit. It is to be regretted that no honest biographer 
 can attribute to Hamor s four years college course the 
 honor of eminent scholarship, much less the virtue of 
 unwearying diligence. His ability was unquestioned. 
 He might have distinguished himself in many branches, 
 but, the truth is, he excelled in none. It may be that 
 he lacked ambition as a student ; possibly he and the 
 aristocratic young men of his acquaintance considered 
 it better tone to be merry than to be wise, and it is 
 certain that he devoted too much time to the painting 
 of huge pictures for boat-clubs and class-day surprises. 
 This kind of work was however merely for his own 
 passing pleasure. The thought of becoming a painter 
 had not yet taken possession of him. 
 
 Afterwards it seemed incredible that he had wasted 
 so many years, ignorant of what was awaiting him. 
 But his early vague desires were half crushed by the
 
 GUENN. 25 
 
 weight of famity tradition. The men of his race had 
 been grave scholarly gentlemen, living among their 
 books. There had never been a painter among them, 
 "or an organ-grinder, thank God!" the true Puritan 
 spirit might have added in one breath. Not that in a 
 town of acknowledged literary tendencies, prestige, and 
 rich tradition one had no interest in the Old Masters, 
 and no good engravings on one s walls. But the Old 
 Masters were, after all, foreigners. There had never 
 been any in New England. No doubt there were 
 excellent people in Japan ; but who could expect of 
 them the less oblique eyes or the probity of old Puritan 
 stock ? So too with gj-psies, actors, and painters. Art, 
 defined in a general way, was something itinerant if not 
 dissolute. An artist a pedler, indeed could have 
 amiable qualities, but should hardly be trusted with one s 
 daughter or one s spoons. Did not a boy often cherish 
 wild longings to join a circus, to run away to sea, to be 
 an artist, heaven knows what ? But properly managed, 
 he would outgrow his vagaries, and become a respec 
 table man, not differing essentially from people around 
 him. 
 
 The opposition to Hamor s strong but sleeping 
 artistic tendency was as powerful as it was subtle. In 
 the air he breathed, in all his best associations, he met 
 with it. Every near influence served to impress him 
 with the locally accepted fact that a painter is at best 
 an impractical and a visionary being, who would be a 
 most incongruous figure to introduce in a staid row of 
 Puritan divines. He had, himself, a profound respect 
 for worldly success, and his character was not wanting 
 in New Phigland thrift and shrewdness. Far from 
 madly vowing to follow Art at any price, and die, if need 
 be, at her glorious feet, he decided, in a cool business-
 
 26 GUENN. 
 
 like way, that as painting, in all probability, would not 
 prove a practical means of support, it would be prudent 
 for a young man, who had his own fortunes to make or 
 mar, to begin to interest himself in something else. 
 
 But his nature was continually at odds with the 
 limitations of his surroundings. It is therefore not 
 surprising that, at the close of his college course, he 
 was still irresolute as to the choice of a career. More 
 over, sunny, debonair, and apparently thoughtless as he 
 was, he had the saving grace to weigh himself in the 
 balance with generally unsatisfactory results. 
 
 He accused himself of vacillation, want of self-reliance, 
 many distressing weaknesses. But he resolved to give 
 himself time to know his own mind. Finding himself 
 what he called soft, he decided to harden. Having 
 no clearly defined idea of the difficulties of self-support, 
 he determined to support himself, and so learn them. 
 Like a restless boy setting off for the Crusades to win 
 his spurs, Hamor went West, where he met with work, 
 adventures, hardships, and perils to his heart s desire, 
 and by doing various things indifferently well, manfully 
 earned his daily bread. The hardening process began 
 speedily. At one time he was employed in a city shop, 
 which he loathed. He taught school in a backwoods 
 settlement. He roughed it with hunters and guides. 
 As a pedagogue he was a success. The ancestral gift 
 of expounding had descended upon him. Before his 
 twenty pupils of both sexes, ranging from four to nine 
 teen years of age, he felt himself master of the situation. 
 He succeeded in teaching his boys more than they ever 
 learned from books, before or since his epoch, constantly 
 illustrating his themes by graphic sketches on the 
 blackboard, to his own as well as their huge enjoyment. 
 
 He increased his knowledge of human nature and
 
 GUENN. 27 
 
 certain occult sciences by pleasurabby close observation 
 of the habits of Indians, Chinamen, the polished faro- 
 player, and the most ignorant and brutal vagabonds. 
 He learned to sit an untrained horse, throw a lasso, . 
 handle a gun, and use his fists. Two nomadic years, 
 chiefly among coarse people, and free from conventional 
 restraint, may not have been unconditionally improving 
 to a man of Ilamor s temperament ; but he had gained 
 his object. He was hardened, and knew his own 
 mind. 
 
 In the mountains, in the vast unbroken forests, 
 Nature and his own heart revealed to him his destiny ; 
 and he felt at last that he was born for art, that 
 painting was the one unwavering desire of his soul, the 
 one life in which he could hope for happiness. He lost 
 no time in bewailing his delay. He felt indeed that he 
 had no time to lose. Returning East, he made whatever 
 financial arrangements were feasible, received without 
 compunction the somewhat startled and anxious bless 
 ings of his friends, and sailed for France. 
 
 Paris then succeeded to the backwoods, and inces 
 sant work, to the mutability of his recent occupations, 
 work that was keen joy to him, that seized and 
 owned him. The technical training that he needed ; 
 the stimulus of a great atelier, with the companionship 
 of scores of eager, ambitious young men ; the free 
 judgment of his peers ; the brief, weighty word of 
 criticism from masters, whose least glance of interest 
 was an invaluable boon to a young artist, Hamor 
 had at last, and almost without price, so great is the 
 help that France nobly gives, for Art s sake, to Art s 
 followers. 
 
 He was speedily recognized as a man of promise. 
 " A strong draughtsman," his friends admitted ; but
 
 28 GUENN. 
 
 they were apt to slightly shrug their shoulders when 
 they spoke of his color. "There is something in him," 
 said the experts. His comrades began to watch him, 
 to ask his advice. But greater than any one s faith in 
 him was Hamor s supreme faith in himself. " I am 
 going to show them what good painting is. I can t 
 yet ; but I will before I die." 
 
 In the mean time as his pictures had not yet a large 
 marketable value, and since, in spite of a portrait not 
 quite fatally hung in the Salon, after his second year in 
 Paris, and even a "mention honorable," the world at 
 laro-e was unaware of the existence of our American 
 
 O 
 
 Kaphael he found it expedient, after a summer in the 
 lovely Fon tainebleau Woods, to retire to a remote Breton 
 fishing- village, for a season of inexpensive living, im 
 provement in color, outdoor work, and inward growth. 
 
 If a racehorse could direct with superior intelligence 
 the gradual development of his own speed and strength, 
 coolly recognizing the necessity of a rotation of exercise, 
 oats, and rest, he would bear a certain resemblance to 
 Everett Hamor, biding his time with a long patience, 
 preparatory to entering the lists. 
 
 Like most geniuses, actual or potential, Hamor had 
 his share of startling inconsistencies. Good old-fash 
 ioned New England traits and rank Bohemianism played 
 hide-and-seek in the nooks and crannies of his character, 
 leaping out alter nately to surprise the unwary. He was 
 brusque and gracious, arrogant and modest, hard and 
 tender, shallow and deep, narrow and liberal, prudent 
 and careless by turns. Any play of emotion in his 
 immediate proximity was apt to vex or weary him. He 
 distinct!} preferred to live on the surface of things, 
 studying human passion only in its distant picturesque 
 effects. If a dense cloud of feeling seemed to threaten
 
 GUENN. 29 
 
 him from any quarter, he would discreetly shelter him 
 self under his moral umbrella. He could completely 
 ignore a near appeal for sympathy ; but something as 
 safely removed from him as the sorrows of JEneas was 
 apt to touch him profoundly. Indeed, the well-known 
 passage, beginning, 
 
 " Infandum regina jubes renovare dolorem," 
 
 he liked to mutter rather tragically to himself; and by 
 the time he had reached 
 
 " Jam nox humido coelo 
 Prascipitat suadentque cadentia sidera somnos," 
 
 his face always softened perceptibly. 
 
 He was punctiliously courteous to the lower classes ; 
 and often, in these French country-places, would hasten 
 his step to adjust a toppling bundle of grain on the head 
 of some withered old crone, or to relieve a little maid 
 of a package that seemed too heavy for her. He had 
 even been known to offer his cigarette-case, with a 
 charming smile of approval, to a rascally looking re 
 turned convict. This action was, however, by no means 
 due to benevolence, but rather to an instinctive desire 
 on the painter s part to repay, if slightly, the great 
 artistic pleasure he had experienced in observing the 
 man s heavy neck, sly e} - es, small cruel mouth, weak 
 chin, and all the mean and sordid lines indicative of 
 the harmoniously developed villain. 
 
 But, in spite of this gentle consideration to strangers, 
 beggars, and thieves, Hamor was capable of a rare dis 
 regard of the comfort and idiosyncrasies of his friends. 
 He was an extremely poor listener, and an inveterate 
 and oblivious interrupter, caring, in general, little for 
 what other people had to say. Any dissertation of an 
 earnest nature bored him, and he had not always the
 
 30 GUENN. 
 
 social grace of feigning an interest in it. He would 
 often chatter volubly, in a sunny, irrelevant, expansive 
 fashion, about topics as indifferent to himself as to his 
 hearers, unconscious that the mental wires were down 
 between him and his surroundings, and regardless of 
 the general devastation. 
 
 A habit of his, perhaps more fantastic than false, was 
 that of posing, or trying his own effect, in different 
 mental attitudes, against different backgrounds. It 
 was, upon the whole, a harmless eccentricity, practised 
 chiefly upon very young women with wondering eyes ; 
 and he was apt, in rare movements of self-analysis, to 
 be somewhat ashamed of it. Indeed he was prone, at 
 widely intermittent intervals, to spasms of penitence for 
 all his failings ; but in general he did not occupy him 
 self with very rigid introspection. 
 
 He had, in short, many characteristics which, in case 
 of his success, would be cited as eccentricities of gen 
 ius, in case of failure, would unquestionably be classi 
 fied under a less complaisant head, and which mayor 
 may not have been originally due to the instinctive efforts 
 of a timid and suspicious nature to range itself with less 
 sensitive material. "Wayward in non-essentials, Hamor 
 was a man of principle in matters which he regarded as 
 the real conduct of life. His theories were often scat 
 ter-brained ; his acts were usually simple and sensible. 
 His deed was better than his word. 
 
 Physically he was an attractive man. The long lank 
 American figure which his countiymen seem not so 
 much to have inherited from their ancestors, as through 
 some unexplained process to have borrowed from the 
 former occupants of the soil never seemed to incom 
 mode him. He had no unusual strength, but was ex 
 ceedingly well trained in all kinds of bodily exercise.
 
 GUENN. 31 
 
 An easy fashion of wearing his clothes, evidently regard 
 ing them as of the least possible importance, was one 
 of his salient properties ; but a man whose high head 
 and rarely beautiful profile would have had dignit} , 
 emei ging from an Indian blanket, might be pardoned for 
 rebellion to his tailor. His secretive obstinate month, 
 with the prejudices of centuries lurking in its corners, 
 was flatly contradicted by a smile so sunny, kind, and 
 free, that the wild little Breton girls soon smiled back 
 at him under their prim white coiffes, and forgot to 
 be afraid of the stranger. Changeable eyes, too near 
 together, glanced from beneath a narrow and sol 
 emnly ministerial forehead, giving him a singular effect 
 of a charming faun wearing the mask of a Plymouth 
 deacon. 
 
 ilamor was then enigmatical, elusive, and not what 
 women call a satisfactory person.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SOME days after the great sardine-catch, Guenn 
 Rodellec went to the river. Going to the river 
 was an event which took place three or four times a 
 week in Plouvenec, but its frequency made it none the 
 less delightful to Guenn. How could she fail to enjoy 
 it? All the women clustered on the bank, kneeling 
 and washing their linen, and spreading it out to dry on 
 the clean grass, reeds, brambles, and tufts of heather 
 and brake ; and everything, positively everything that 
 had happened in Plouvenec since the last time, witli 
 much, indeed, that had not, related in stirring style 
 by practised tongues. 
 
 Guenn had gone to the river earlier than most girls, 
 and was rather proud of being one of the regular 
 members of this great sisterhood, that bleached clothes 
 diligently, but never by any chance whitened a reputa 
 tion. Girls who had mothers rarely went to the river 
 very young. Even here, where childhood was so
 
 GUENN. 33 
 
 unguarded, there was a tacit understanding that it was 
 in a certain sense a decided step in a girl s life, a crisis, 
 when she first went to the river. She was^ old enough 
 now for anything. It was an event of as much impor 
 tance as the first ball of a girl in the great world. 
 
 But Guenn, having no mother, began in her ninth 
 year to represent her family in the washing conclave, 
 and to look forward to its chronique scandaleuse with as 
 much eagerness as a fashionable young lady awaits 
 the next instalment of a sensational novel. She could 
 now hold her own, in racy anecdote and piquant repartee, 
 with the most virulent old fish-wife among them. It 
 was always dull, or worse, at home. Nannie was never 
 there ; for all day long he was hanging about the wharves, 
 listening to the sailors talk, or begging sous and lumps 
 of sugar of strangers at the inns, trading cleverl} upon 
 their pity for his misshapen little person, or oppos 
 ing his uncanny slyness to the brute force of the other 
 
 If her father was sleeping off the effects of a bad 
 carouse, Guenn was wise enough to be out of his way 
 when he waked ; and for this she had her good and 
 sufficient reasons. So, like Rodellec and little Nannie, 
 the young girl regarded her home as a mere sleeping- 
 place nights, to leave by day as early as possible. Then 
 often she was employed in M. Morot s usine, and sat 
 in the long room, with the best workwomen, packing 
 sardines with swift, accustomed touch. Being clever, 
 bold, and shrewd, she was often, indeed, one of his 
 buyers. 
 
 But these occupations were as fluctuating as the wind 
 and weather which caused the greater or smaller catch. 
 Some da} s the boats came in so loaded that every 
 available woman in Plouvenec was summoned to work, 
 
 3
 
 34 GUENN. 
 
 if need be, all night long. Monsieur Morot was, so far 
 as business allowed, a kind man, and liked to excuse 
 the 3 ounger girls from the wearisome night-work ; but 
 Guenn was strong and ambitious, and when the} T told 
 her she was too small and young, she would laugh, and 
 gayly remain at her post. 
 
 Then, other days, the great usines were empty, and 
 the women were free to knit and gossip and walk the 
 streets and sit on the wall on the beach, as they 
 pleased. The\* were paid, not by the day or hour, but 
 by the number of hundred fish packed, and were all 
 at the orders of Monsieur Morot, or any other person 
 to whom they were engaged, for any hour, day or night. 
 
 This late September morning the boats were all out 
 far beyond the Lannions, au large, as the fishermen 
 would say. The warm sunshine streamed through hazy 
 autumn air, upon fields of purple heather and waving 
 buckwheat, smoky broom and shadow} flax ; upon 
 apple-trees and mistletoe, and massive granite walls, 
 overgrown with a riotous tangle of rich moss, tall 
 ferns, ivy, holly, and blackberry-vines ; and upon the 
 thick row of great oak-trunks growing along the wall, 
 shorn of their glory, yet still asserting their abso 
 lute monarchy, holding up bravely to the world 
 their crowns of meagre foliage, the best their stout 
 hearts could produce, to cover the loss of the mighty 
 branches gone. And the sunshine fell strongly too on 
 Guenn Rodellec s strange, dark, little, Breton home, 
 built of upright blocks of granite, ancient and sombre 
 as the Druid stone, the menhir, in the field near by, 
 one narrow window in the thick wall, through which a 
 feeble ray of light penetrated, disclosing the earthen 
 floor, the great fireplace with a few coals smouldering 
 on the hearth, and in the -gloom of the chimney-corner,
 
 GUENN. 35 
 
 the great ancestral walnut bed, the lit clos, three 
 stories high, where Herve Rodellec was sleeping out 
 his drunken sleep. 
 
 In one corner was an old oaken armoire, with silver 
 locks and hinges. In another stood a black-oaken 
 table, with a bench on either side. There was a bench 
 too by the bed, the inevitable oaken bench seen in every 
 cottage, and inseparably connected with simple Breton 
 life its births, its deaths, its homely joys, and merry 
 makings. The dignity of age in the few pieces of rich 
 wood, with their primitive but good carving, contrasted 
 with the otherwise bare details of the sordid interior. 
 The house was cheerless and dark, since in the old 
 days granite was everywhere present, as was war ; and 
 thick walls, with small loop-holes, were a protection 
 against the foe, whether it were heat, cold, or man s 
 cruelty. Then, in a land where Druid priests once 
 chanted their songs of praise and offered sacrifices to 
 the sun-god, the seigneurs later, with fine but uncon 
 scious irony, taxed the peasant s windows. 
 
 Guenn this morning had mechanicallj pushed a little 
 pot of buckwheat-porridge nearer the smouldering em 
 bers, completed her toilette, by putting on her faded red 
 kerchief and faded blue apron, and the snowy coiffe, 
 with its substrata of skull-caps, between which, tress 
 by tress, she laid her beautiful hair. All this compli 
 cated process took place by means of deft little pats 
 and strokes, without a hairpin or a mirror, Guenn 
 having and desiring neither one nor the other. Then, 
 singing the refrain of a light and amorous ditty, which 
 had no more meaning or importance to her than the 
 stupor of her drunken father, she sprang blithely into 
 the sunshine, her basket of clothes on her head. 
 
 With her free, long steps she went rapidly down the
 
 36 GUENN. 
 
 sunny road, between the massive fern-covered walls and 
 mutilated giant oaks. The breeze called out all the 
 warmth of her .young cheeks. Her clear, bold eyes 
 searched the whole landscape. She turned down one 
 of the narrow shady lanes so common in Brittany, a 
 chemin creux, loveliest of forest paths, cool, fragrant, 
 silent, delicious ; its smooth stepping-stones and undu 
 lating surface worn down far below the level of the 
 woods, by the tread of toiling feet through centuries ; 
 rude wails, bearing a wealth of ivy, hone}~suckle, and 
 ferns ; sunlight flickering on golden-green moss, and, 
 to-da} , upon the pale russet of the first dead leaves. 
 Guenn sprang lightly and swiftly from one stepping- 
 stone, irregularly placed in the boggy soil, to another, 
 rarely lifting her hand to steady her basket, and sing 
 ing all the time, with her innocent voice, her very 
 wicked little song. 
 
 Rodellec s house was on a lonely road, somewhat 
 remote from the village. Guenn, this morning, arrived 
 late at the assembly of her peers. The women were in 
 full force, already hard at work, kneeling in their 
 boxes, which rested on smooth flat stones fairly in the 
 water, soaping, dipping their linen, and pounding it on 
 the stones with heavy little wooden paddles, all chat 
 tering at once, and exchanging volleys of what else 
 where would be termed insult and vituperation, but 
 which, in Plouvenec, seemed to represent a certain form 
 of the amenities of life. The broad, shallow stream was 
 caught and made into a pool by a heap of large stones, 
 through and over which it oozed out, and lost itself in 
 the sands. Beyond the dunes lay the meadows. On 
 the Plouvenec side were walled fields, oak torsos and 
 rich vines growing from the granite. On the opposite 
 side, across the white beach, rose great crags. It was
 
 GUENN. 37 
 
 a free and beautiful spot, filled with sunshine and sea- 
 breezes. 
 
 Guenn came springing down the bank. She observed 
 with delight that old Mother Xives and other veterans 
 were present, a sure indication of a lively morning. 
 Jeanne Ronan too, whom Guenn liked, was there. 
 
 "There s Guenn !" cried some of the 3 ounger 
 girls. 
 
 " Oh, 3 ou re a nice lot, you are ! " was Mademoiselle 
 Rodellec s courteous morning salutation, her hands on 
 her hips, a light smile of conscious power, like that of a 
 famed gladiator entering the arena, playing about her 
 mouth. "You couldn t any of you take a little more 
 room, could 3-011, or a few more of the best places at 
 once ? Modest, you are ! Move your things over, 
 Marie, and be quick about it too. I m coming there 
 by Jeanne." 
 
 Marie grumbled, that people who came late better 
 take what was left, upon which Guenn unceremoniously 
 pushed the girl s basket aside, tossed her box and loose 
 clothes in various directions, and coolly usurped the 
 desired position. 
 
 Having made this triumphant entrance, she plunged 
 into her work, saying in an undertone: "What s in 
 the wind? Anything new?" 
 
 " Mother Xives s rheumatism has left her. She s got 
 five weeks cooped-up hatefulness to let out." 
 
 "I thought I smelt fire and brimstone," laughed 
 Guenn. 
 
 " Are 3-011 two little fools gabbling about me? " called 
 an ugly old woman in a dark-red petticoat, from the 
 opposite side of the pool. 
 
 Oh, no, Madame Nives," Jeanne answered blandh". 
 " I was only asking Guenn wh3 she s so laz} to-day."
 
 38 GUENN. 
 
 Mother Nives glared suspicion s\y at the two roguish 
 faces. 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie est amei e ! " 
 
 sang Guenn, beating time vigorously with her paddle 
 on the stones, and smiling audaciously at the enem}-. 
 
 " Il m ! " sneered Mother Nives. "Your life is likely 
 to be bitter enough. Just keep on with your monke} r - 
 tricks, and I can tell you where they 11 lead you, Guenn 
 Eodellec ! " 
 
 "Madame Xives knows, because she s been there 
 herself," interposed Mother Quapcr s strident tones, 
 advancing to the fniy, not in the least on Guenn s 
 account, but because she never declined the pleasure 
 of a little round with Mother Nives, with whom, how 
 ever, she was by no means on bad terms, as Plouvenec 
 neighbors go. 
 
 "Been where, Madame Quaper?" demanded the old 
 woman j with dangerous suavity. "I ve been about 
 my own business, which is where 3*011 never were yet, 
 Madame Quaper. You wasli your clothes and I will 
 wash mine, Madame Quaper, or one of us will be 
 missed by the river for several to-morrows, Madame 
 Quaper." 
 
 This was considered by the listeners one of Mother 
 Nives s best efforts, the veiled suggestion of personal 
 violence being particularly admired. But Mother Qua 
 per, upon whom all eyes were now turned, was equal to 
 the occasion. 
 
 "Madame Nives means that the judge of the peace 
 is going to lock her up in good earnest, this time, as a 
 public nuisa nce," she exclaimed. The repartee, based 
 on historical fact, caused laughter and cries of delight. 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie est amere ! "
 
 GUENN. 39 
 
 Guenn and Jeanne, bending over the water, dipped 
 and sang in unison, laughing maliciously. 
 
 "The judge is a fool," remarked Mother Nives, dis 
 creetly introducing a new theme. "He would try to 
 make 3*011 believe a sardine is a mackerel." 
 
 " And his smile is as oily as both of them," observed 
 another woman. 
 
 " The bon homme blows hot and cold, and north and 
 south, at a blast," said Mother Quaper. 
 
 " Because he s a coward," added Guenn scornfully. 
 
 "Did you hear what he did about the Fouesnant 
 pig?" asked a large blond woman, who had been spread 
 ing her wash out to dry, and now stood at her ease, 
 looking down upon her kneeling sisters. 
 
 " No, tell us, Nona ! " 
 
 "Yes, we should like to hear what one pig did 
 with the other," Mother Nives said, in her delicately 
 humorous manner. 
 
 " The pig was in a flax-field. A man drove him out. 
 Somehow the man broke the pig s leg. It was his 
 neighbor s pig, you see. They quarrelled about it well, 
 and came to blows. They were only stupid peasants, 
 and " 
 
 Nona was here interrupted by angry remonstrances 
 from the women who represented the purely peasant 
 element, in contradistinction to the sailor and fisher 
 population. 
 
 " You idiots, hold your tongues ! " roared mighty 
 Mother Nives, rising to quell the tumult. 
 
 "Let Nona tell her yarn," thundered Mother Quaper, 
 waving her paddle majestically. 
 
 Before the allied forces of the two most puissant 
 fish-wives, the peasant insurrection subsided in murmurs 
 of discontent.
 
 40 GUENN. 
 
 " I say I, myself that they were stupid peasants, 
 and came to blows," resumed Nona, doggedly. "But 
 trying to break each other s skulls did not seem to mend 
 piggy s leg. So they came over to Plouvenec, before 
 monsieur the judge, and he told them they were both 
 very fine fellows and clever fellows, and the} d better 
 go back to Fouesnant, to think about it ten days and see 
 if they could n t arrange matters. The}" went back, and 
 thought and thought, but it did no good. After the ten 
 days, they came back to the judge. What did he do 
 but say that the3 r were fine fellows, clever fellows, and 
 that piggy must be killed ; the man who broke its leg 
 should buy it, and their next-door neighbor, who is also 
 a fine, clever fellow, should decide the weight and the 
 price? Everybody s satisfied, and the judge makes 
 no ill-will. lie smiles ; they smile ; the neighbor smiles. 
 And so, good-day to you ! " Nona walked briskly 
 away, across the dunes. 
 
 " The judge is hand and glove with all the strangers 
 and artists. They are mostly brainless chaps, to be 
 sure. They don t sec through him." Mother Quaper 
 shook out a bathing-towel. 
 
 " Brainless ! It s a wonder they don t all fall off the 
 digue," Mother Nives added acrimoniously. 
 
 " Now this young gentleman," and Mother Quaper 
 held up a shirt to general inspection, gazing at it 
 meditatively, with an "Alas, poor Yorick " air, "this 
 poor little dear Monsieur Staunton," she looked as 
 if she were beholding Staunton in person, instead 
 of his innocent garment, "a good-looking gars to 
 ,,be sure, and the finest of linen. Rich as a duke, 
 most likely ; gave my Kadoc ten sous yesterday. Well, 
 as I was saying, my neighbors sold him some old 
 sails for his studio, the Lord above knows what he
 
 GUENN. 41 
 
 wants of them, seeing as he can t sail his studio on 
 the bay " 
 
 " Window-curtains, and such," called out Jeanne 
 Ronan, instructively. 
 
 " Curtains or fiddlesticks, for all o me ; but they made 
 him pay twice as much as the very best brand-new ones 
 are worth. I heard it all. How I laughed ! If they 
 had n t been neighbors, 3*011 know, and old friends, 
 I d have given him a wink. Such a good-looking 
 gars as he is, ce cher petit Staunton ! " Down went 
 Mr. Staunton s shirt in the water with eclat. 
 
 " AVell now, nobody can tell anything about messieurs 
 les artistes," and little Jeanne raised her voice with 
 conviction. She was a model, and knew what she was 
 talking about. u Perhaps he was n t cheated, after all. 
 If the sails looked old and rusty and faded and dirty and 
 patched and stained why, he liked them better than 
 new ones. He wanted to pa} r more for them. Here is 
 ni} kerchief. It was a beauty once," glancing down 
 at it regretfully. You remember, Guenn? I bought 
 it at the Beuzec Pardon." Guenn nodded assent. "The 
 spots were bright blue, and the stripes were bright red, 
 and the criss-cross lines were green and yellow. Now, 
 what do 3 ou think ? Mr. Staunton would n t paint it ; 
 would n t so much as look at it, until the colors had all 
 run together and it was dirty. He said it made his eyes 
 ache. He called it hard." 
 
 "A cotton kerchief hard!" screamed the women in 
 derision. 
 
 " That s what he said ; and now, when I don t like 
 it airy more, and put on m\ T new one, he sends me home 
 ever3" time I come without it. There was a 3 ellow cash 
 mere baby-blanket little Helene had. All the artists 
 called it a glory. The3* hung it in the sun and the3
 
 42 GUENN, 
 
 hung it in the shadow, and upside-down and wrong-side 
 out. It had a big darn, but it was a gloiy all the same." 
 
 " A glory, a glory ! " laughed the chorus. " Oh, mon 
 dieu, a glory ! " 
 
 "And so I say you can t tell arrvthing about 
 them, because they are different," concluded Jeanne 
 philosophically. 
 
 "Because they are idiots!" was Mother Nives s 
 acrid amendment. " And as for your pretty gars, with 
 his fine linen, he owes his carpenter s bill, let me tell 
 }-ou that. Who knows but he s only show rich ? " 
 
 " And this much I can say," began the heavy peasant- 
 girl Marie, several times pushed aside as of no impor 
 tance, and glad now to swim with the current, "since 
 Nona Hevin has been posing for him, she has n t a 
 decent word in her mouth for anybody. My grand 
 mother says it does n t bode much good to girls when 
 they get their heads turned by the artists. They are no 
 better than they should be, the most of em. What 
 happened to Yvonne, and whose fault was it but an 
 artist s? Though my grandmother does say she was 
 always a silly, vain thing, herself. And as for Nona 
 Kevin, with her airs," shaking her head significantly, 
 "we shall see ! " 
 
 Jeanne looked up angrily ; but Guenn sprang to her 
 feet, and with uncompromising directness exclaimed 
 hotly: "And why didn t you say all that when Nona 
 was here ? Because you did not dare, Marie Brenn ! 
 And it s a great deal you know about models and paint 
 ers ! Only you know very well nobody wants to paint 
 your ugly frog face, and that makes you say mean things 
 about the pretty girls. Nona is as good a girl as there 
 is in Plouvcnec, and Jeanne is the very best one. You d 
 better not say anything more about models ! "
 
 GUENN. 43 
 
 "The blessed Virgin forbid that I should be one," 
 persisted Marie piously ; " and whether Jeanne likes it 
 or not, my grandmother says, in Paris, models don t 
 wear clothes. So there, Guenn Rodellec ! " 
 
 Ejaculations of unspeakable astonishment followed 
 this statement. Guenn s own amazement was bound 
 less, but she would have died rather than betra}* it, or 
 let it be even faintby surmised that Marie Brenn could 
 give her the least information upon any point whatever. 
 
 "Well, who doesn t know that?" she retorted, star 
 ing haughtily at Marie, without the quiver of an eye 
 lash. " Perhaps you and your grandma had better set 
 up a school to teach the rest of us our A B C s. Does n t 
 everybody know there are black, heathen people in Africa 
 and Italy, and such out-of-the-way places? They don t 
 wear clothes, because " hesitating a perceptible in 
 stant, then, with laudable aplomb, concluding "they 
 have n t got any to wear. The}- wear skins of ani 
 mals, and such things. They climb trees and eat 
 roots," she added, in a superior but somewhat vague 
 manner. Descending from these heights of knowledge 
 to her own territory, she advanced with splendid rapid 
 ity. "But I ll tell you what, Marie Brenn, even if 
 heathen don t know much, the3 r can t be worse than 
 you, saying behind a girl s back what you don t dare 
 say to her face, and giving a dead girl a mean hit, too ! 
 As if it was n t enough for poor Yvonne to drown her 
 self and die, and her soul on a wave beating against 
 the cliff eveiy night ! " 
 
 Guenn and all the women gave an involuntary glance 
 at the towering crag, and crossed themselves. Marie, 
 crushed by the weight of so much learning, after a 
 little pause retorted sullenly : " Well, you never posed 
 yourself, Guenn Rodellec ! "
 
 44 GUENN. 
 
 11 Well, I never did," Guenn said mockingly. 
 
 " But tlie}^ all want her," cried Jeanne eagerl} r . 
 " Monsieur Staunton, Monsieur Douglas, the French 
 painters, the new one, everybody wants Guenn, 
 everybody ! Only she won t come." 
 
 Guenn tossed her pretty head. " Wh\ T should I stand 
 still, with a water-jug in m}- hand, eight mortal hours, 
 like 3"ou, Jeanne? I should throw the jug at the idiot 
 and run away. But if it amuses } ou ! " she shrugged 
 her shoulders and laughed. 
 
 " Oh, I like it well enough," Jeanne admitted cheerily. 
 " I must say, it s better fun than the usine. They let you 
 rest. But they are a queer set, and no mistake. Mon 
 sieur Douglas painted old Josephe with her distaff in the 
 wrong hand. I went into fits of laughter every time 
 I saw it. He was at it six weeks. All the painters 
 stood in front of it and told him how beautiful it was, 
 and cackled like so man} geese. One morning he said : 
 Jeanne, you will tell me how you like my picture;" 1 
 wickedly imitating Mr. Douglas s solemn British-French. 
 " Oh, said I, if it pleases monsieur Josephe s nose 
 is shorter, and her eyes are squinter, but so ugly as the 
 picture she never was ; and O monsieur, the distaff is 
 in the wrong hand ! 
 
 "But what made Josephe hold her distaff wrong?" 
 demanded half-a-dozen voices in amazement. 
 
 " As if Josephe cares ! " began Guenn contemptuously. 
 "These painters are all mad, you know. Jeanne s 
 Monsieur Staunton kneels down and says his prayers 
 to a mud-puddle, with a bit of light shining in it. Mon 
 sieur Douglas picks up a fish-head on the road, and looks 
 at it as if he was the cure reading his breviarv. If they 
 had told Josephe to coiffer her distaff, and wear her sa 
 bots on her head, she d have done it all the same. Oh,
 
 GUENN. 45 
 
 mam- s the time I ve watched Jeanne through the gate, 
 and Monsieur Douglas standing so," giving a dra 
 matic representation of Mr. Douglas s manner and atti 
 tude. " Raise your left eyebrow, Jeanne. Draw 
 your foot back. Breathe quite easily. Head to the 
 right. Eyes to the left. Ah, charming ! Now we will 
 begin. Then, after a couple of hours, Rest. Be 
 gin Rest. And so on all day. Here is your 
 mone} . Come to-morrow at eight. Aliens done, do 
 3"ou suppose I d put up with that? Am I a stick or a 
 stone, or a trained poodle at the fair? k Give your paw, 
 Guenn. Sit up and beg, Guenn. No no no!" 
 And raising her arms high above her head, with a swing 
 of her lithe body expressive of the joys of savage free 
 dom, Guenn resumed her duties as independent wash 
 erwoman, with a clear and sweet 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, quo la vie est amere ! " 
 
 Jeanne laughed merrily with the others. 
 
 Oh yes, Guenn is hoitj -toity enough," sneered 
 Mother Nives. " But the .young fellow who saw all her 
 hair loose may see it again. Sainte Anne d Auray ! 
 Was n t the girl a sight, when milord the painter was 
 looking at her?" 
 
 " Who cares about him ! " Guenn exclaimed quickly, 
 with heightened color. 
 
 " I saw him coming," the old woman went on, giving 
 a mysterious leer. " In the candle I saw a stranger, the 
 night before he came. I named three bits of straw, for 
 you and Jeanne and Nona ; when I blew, Jeanne and 
 Nona flew over, but you fell into the flame." 
 
 Guenn, with a defiant toss of her head and a deeper 
 flush, retorted: "Keep your candle-fortunes for your 
 self, Madame Nives ; " but she was uneasy neverthe-
 
 46 GUENN. 
 
 less. Had not she herself, the very day she saw him 
 on the sands, heard alone at home a loud noise 
 three times repeated, as if the old armoire was trying 
 to speak? Everybod} 7 knows that means misfortune. 
 And did not a little gray bird fly more than once in her 
 path as she came through the woods, quite fearless, 
 though she was so near, and looking at her strangely with 
 its little round eyes ? She knew well what soul had re 
 turned in the form of a bird, to warn her of impending 
 evil. Then, when raadame, at the VoA ageurs, asked 
 her to pour out a glass of wine in the kitchen, she 
 had spilled it on a white napkin. More misfortune ! 
 
 All that in a couple of hours. Guenn had felt op 
 pressed by these evil signs, but had put them out of 
 her mind as soon as possible. Now old Mother Nives 
 reminded her of her forebodings. Well, was it not mis 
 fortune enough to stand there with her hair hanging 
 down, before a man, and to have them play her such a 
 mean trick? She never believed more than half of any 
 thing the Nives said ; still 
 
 That amiable person, observing that she had acciden 
 tally said something which disturbed the young girl, 
 continued venomously : "You mark my words, you ll 
 be posing like a lamb before long. He did n t lose 
 much time with your father that night. He s a cool 
 one. He can put out firebrands." 
 
 Again Guenn was lost in uneasy thought. She re 
 membered, against her will, every feature of the stran 
 ger s face, as he calmly looked on her sorry plight, and 
 as calmly afterwards restrained her father s drunken 
 fur} . Jeanne anxiously pulled her friend s sleeve. What 
 could be the matter? Guenn, whose tongue never failed 
 her, was surely not going to be beaten publicly by the 
 Nives.
 
 GUENN. 47 
 
 But Guenn rallied. "If he ever comes to me," she 
 said impudently, "I ll send him to paint you and 
 Loic." 
 
 Now Madame Nives and her son Loi c were, even ac 
 cording to the unexacting Plouvenec standard, the ugli 
 est people in existence ; moreover Loi c, like many an 
 other young man, sighed in vain for Guenn Rodellec. 
 
 The mercurial chorus shouted with glee. 
 
 "You minx!" cried Mother Nives in a fine rage. 
 "But I dare you to swear you won t be his model. You 
 will, I know 3*ou will." 
 
 " Well now, I don t intend to be driven by anybody," 
 Guenn returned stoutly. " I won t say yes to please 
 him, or no to please you." 
 
 "AVhat s the man s name, anj -way?" demanded 
 Mother Nives. 
 
 " Ilnmor, replied several women, who frequented the 
 Vo3~ageurs kitchen. 
 
 " Madame, at the Voyageurs, has him in tow?" 
 
 " And he can be thankful if she has. Ah, what a 
 brave fern me ! She never gets into a rage, and calls 
 bad names," exclaimed Guenn, whose specialty was 
 rages and bad names, " and strong as a man. A man 
 indeed," with high disdain, "what are men? 
 Strong as a lion ! " 
 
 " It s easy enough to be a brave fcmme with an inn 
 like hers, and a good business, and nothing to do but to 
 smile at the men ; " and Mother Nives looked about with 
 an evil sneer. Madame was a favorite ; still, this pic 
 ture of worldly bliss tried the souls of the women. 
 "Well, that s true enough, and no mistake," many of 
 them cried enviously. "She does have an easy time 
 of it." But Mother Quaper, Guenn, and Jeanne 
 laughed in loud derision.
 
 48 GUENN. 
 
 " O 3 ou poor sillies ! " Guenn said, shaking her head 
 with mocking commiseration. " Don t } ou know ma- 
 dame s little finger is wiser than the whole of your 
 stupid bodies? There s nothing she can t do. There s 
 nothing she doesn t do. And with shoals of people 
 about, making a pow-wow and all wanting her at once, 
 she looks as strong and still as a menhir in a thunder, 
 storm. How I d like to see 3*011 all having her easy timt,. 
 at the Yoyageurs ! " She threw back her head, with hei- 
 pretty mocking laugh. " Marie could keep the books 
 
 dull Marie being hardly capable of counting fish. 
 "Elise" another especially inefficient young woman 
 
 " could look after the cooking and marketing and 
 gardens. Louise" a careless, tattered girl " could 
 take care of the linen and mending. And Madame 
 Nives, because she is so gentle and CA erybody loves 
 her, could keep the maids all moving smoothly, and 
 smile at the gentlemen. Oh yes, oh yes. How nice 
 it would be then at the Voyageurs." 
 
 This bit of special malice created considerable uproar 
 and angry retort, when Madame Nives, with an eye to 
 business, inquired : " Is the new one rich?" 
 
 "Yes," answered several girls. " lie throws his 
 sous about like water. All the boys were jumping for 
 him on the common last night. And he smokes no end 
 of cigarettes." 
 
 "Who s to have his wash?" continued Mother 
 Nives. 
 
 " Madame Quaper, if you are sure you don t mind at 
 all," answered Guenn wickedly. 
 
 "Is it your doing?" the old woman said with an 
 oath. 
 
 " Never 3-011 mind her nasty temper, Guenn," roared 
 Mother Quaper.
 
 GUENN. 49 
 
 "My temper ain t so nasty as my fist, Madame 
 Quaper, and don t you forget that ! " 
 
 " Well now, I never heard anything so kind of awe- 
 inspiring ; " and Mother Quaper s hoarse voice broke 
 into unmelodious laughter. " It makes me have the 
 what is it, Jeanne? You ought to know! What is it 
 that the fine ladies have ? You see them when they 
 come to look at the pictures." 
 
 "The}- don t have anything particular, except the 
 giggles," Jeanne answered, rcfiectivelj-. "They seem 
 to giggle mostly." 
 
 " There s a woman at the "VVyageurs with the nerves," 
 suggested Guenn gravely ; " madame told me so." 
 
 "That s it," cried Mother Quaper, with exultation. 
 "Guenn, you were alwa}*s the brightest girl! The 
 nerves. That s what I mean. Well now, Madame 
 Nives, that s what I m taken with, sudden, when 
 you talk so painful. Where do the} have them?" 
 she asked Guenn in an eager whisper. 
 
 Guenn looked doubtful. " All over, I suppose. 
 They run down the spine of your back, don t they?" 
 
 " I must sa} r 3*011 ve got a lot of learning, Guenn," 
 Mother Quaper said admiringly. "Madame Nives, 
 I ve got the nerves in the spine of my back, and 
 
 " Bah that s rheumatism," retorted Mother Nives, 
 "and the bon dieu himself can t tell me anything about 
 that ! Nerves indeed, Madame Quaper ! There s no 
 such thing ; and if there is, it is n t for such as you 
 and me." 
 
 "Oh, but there is, and I ve got them!" persisted 
 Madame Quaper, with a grin of delight. 
 
 " There s Morot s boat ! " Guenn sprang eagerly up, 
 shading her e} es with her hand. 
 
 " And what if it is?" grumbled Mother Nives. " Is 
 
 4
 
 50 GUENN. 
 
 that anything new ? Is n t he always sailing and sailing, 
 while we are scrubbing and scrubbing. What did ho 
 ever do in his life, but eat and drink and sail and amuse 
 himself," snarled the bitter old fish- wife, accompanied 
 by murmurs of mingled sympathy and dissent. " Lazy 
 puppy, and his father before him, and his grandfather, 
 that hanged himself in the granary." She crossed 
 herself furtively. Every other woman did the same. 
 "Some folks sail, some folks scrub ; that s life. As for 
 me, I wouldn t turn my head a quarter of an inch to see 
 Louis Morot s boat, unless it was to see it sink ! " The 
 old woman glared straight before her at a pair of blue 
 socks, which she wrung in a vindictive manner. 
 
 Guenn retorted angrily, " AVhat s the use of lying 
 all the time, Madame Nives? Why don t you stop and 
 rest once in a while ? Answer me," she said imperiously, 
 addressing each and all. " Who is the best sailor in 
 Plouvenec? Monsieur Louis. Whose boat goes out in 
 storms that send all the rest of them howling into port? 
 Monsieur Louis. And is ir t it his own boat? Then 
 who has a better right to sail it, I should like to know. 
 Who gives smiles and francs, and one as free as the 
 other? Monsieur Louis. And how man} of our men 
 has he saved at the risk of his life, and he only a young 
 fellow too ! And who looked after Loic Nives when he 
 was down with a broken leg? Monsieur Louis! So I 
 don t think I d hit him behind his back, even if I was 
 3 ou, Madame Nives ! " 
 
 "That s true, Guenn," cried the mobile chorus. 
 " She d better keep still about Monsieur Louis ! She d 
 better hush up ! " 
 
 " And what is he doing now?" Guenn waxed more 
 impassioned with ever}" word. " He is bringing over the 
 Recteur of the Lannions." Her strong gaze searched
 
 GUENN. 51 
 
 the boat. " I know, because I see. That s what he s 
 doing, good Monsieur Louis ! And he could n t do any 
 thing better, unless he should bring us an angel from 
 heaven ; for where the Recteur goes, comes a blessing 
 and a joy, as everybody knows who is n t a knave or a 
 fool, or both. And Monsieur Louis will take him back 
 with his supplies, and he s always looking out for him. 
 And that s the kind of man Monsieur Louis Morot is, 
 and shame on anybody who says he is n t, and she s got 
 something still to hear from Guenn Rodellec, and here 
 I am ! " The girl stood with folded arms, her flaming 
 ej-es challenging them all. 
 
 " I say he is n t." Mother Nives s arms were akimbo, 
 her face was venomous. " I say he s a dandy and a 
 do-nothing, and if he swamps his cursed boat some day, 
 and the precious pair drown together, I 11 stand by and 
 grin. I hate the father. I hate the son. As for your 
 priest, there are too many priests, too many priests. 
 He d better drown," and she laughed her croaking 
 laugh. " Oh, you can t frighten me with your big eyes, 
 Guenn Rodellec, shoot fire out of them as 3 - ou will. 
 What if he did cure Nannie s fever? Do you think 
 an} body but you thanked him for that? Ugly, crooked 
 little brat always in the way ! " 
 
 "Oh come now, come now!" expostulated the 
 women. Even the brutality of Plouvenec had its 
 limits. 
 
 All the brightness faded from Guenn s face, and the 
 little figure so lightly poised, as she had gallantly 
 defended Morot, and followed every movement of his 
 boat grew rigid with passion. 
 
 ; You old devil ! " Ugly lines gathered about the 
 young mouth as it spoke the ugly words. "You say 
 another word about Thymert, or about my brother
 
 52 GUENN. 
 
 Nannie," she spoke slowly, with great pauses "3-011 
 understand, one word about the Recteur or my 
 Nannie " 
 
 " Bo-o-o ! " cried a shrill voice. " Here I am ! " and 
 the wizened face of a humpbacked child, with large eyes 
 like Guenn s, and a sly, unpleasant smile, peered from 
 the bushes on the wall. 
 
 The women crossed themselves. By oaks and run 
 ning water, nains and korrigans might at any time ap 
 pear. With man}- another old Druid superstition, this 
 was a part of eveiy Plouveuec woman s secret belief. 
 
 The fcoj 7 came half-way down the bank and seated 
 himself, resting his pale face on his hands, his long 
 elbows on his knees, motionless, watchful, un- 
 
 "Who called Nannie? I was miles away, and I 
 came." He marie this preposterous statement solemnly, 
 and as if he were chanting. His keen e} r es searched 
 the group. Madame Nives, with a guilty air, was busily 
 washing. In spite of her boasts, she much preferred 
 giving to receiving curses, and had a wholesome dread 
 of the evil e} T e. The other women were all staring up at 
 him. "Madame Nives," called the cripple, "it was 
 you who said Nannie. I came. I will come to you 
 again some time at the stroke of midnight, when every 
 corpse stirs and opens its eyes ! " 
 
 The color crept back to Guenn s cheeks. The ugly 
 lines left her mouth, and the rigid extended arm fell by 
 her side. With a beautiful smile she looked at Nannie ; 
 then out on the bay, where Morot s boat was just round 
 ing the point. Her face grew tender, her great blue 
 eyes bluer. 
 
 " Gamin," she said with inexpressible affection, 
 " wait for me."
 
 GUENN. 
 
 53 
 
 " I am waiting for Jeanne," answered the boy 
 perversely. 
 
 Guenn laughed. " Meme chose," she said brightly. 
 
 Spreading out what remained of her linen, she gath 
 ered together her belongings, and, with Jeanne and 
 Nannie, walked along the beaeh. 
 
 "Ah, mon diou, que la vie cst amere," 
 sang their fresh laughing voices.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ip] cure of the Lannions 
 stood at the half-open door 
 of Rodellec s cottage and 
 knocked. Hearing no sound 
 but the rustling of the foli 
 age on the dwarfed oaks, a 
 lizard darting along the sun- 
 n} T wall, and the long plain 
 tive note of a curlew far up 
 in the hazy sk}-, he bent his 
 head and entered the dark 
 little house. It was as Guenn had left it hours before. 
 The little pot of porridge stood untouched on the cold 
 hearth, by a heap of ashes, and the man still slept in 
 his tomb-like bed. 
 
 The cure sat down on the bench by the table, leaned 
 his head on his hand, looked scrutinizing!}- about the 
 room, and sighed heavily. Thymert had the face of a 
 man of the people, dark, strongly moulded, weather- 
 beaten, indicative of a nature more used to impulsive 
 action, than to the contemplation of intellectual subtle 
 ties. With the dignit}- of his priestly office he com 
 bined the carelessness of the sailor ; while the conscious 
 ness of power, which his unlimited authority in his 
 island-realm lent to his manner, was accompanied by a 
 simplicity^ as perceptible in the strong man of twent}--
 
 GUENN. 55 
 
 five, as long before in the round-faced peasant-boy of 
 eight, whom the good priest of Beuzec employed as 
 acolyte, teaching him with much pains his genuflec 
 tions, patient with his blunders and rude ministrations 
 in the ancient little church, and finally leading him to 
 study for the priesthood. Ordered to the Lannions, his 
 first living, he had remained there because his superiors 
 discreetly concluded it would be impossible to supply 
 his place. An ambitious man could not have con 
 tented himself with this humble post, cure of a hun 
 dred souls: poor fishermen, whose rude houses were 
 scattered here and there on nine bleak islands ; who 
 knew birth and life and death, sickness and health, 
 with the roar of the mighty Atlantic sounding always 
 in their ears ; who heard no sound from the mainland, 
 though empires fell. But Thy inert was not ambitious. 
 
 A placid country pastor- making his rounds through 
 pleasant ways, his old nag sleek and well-fed like him 
 self, his duties small, his comfort great, his benevolence 
 unquestioned and untried might have found himself 
 sadly out of place, transplanted into the austerities of 
 Thj mert s life. But he never moralized about his posi 
 tion, lie was recteur of the Launions, and all was 
 said. 
 
 Priest, doctor, comforter of the women, friend and 
 comrade of the men, strong enough to stop a drunken 
 brawl, not too absorbed in prayers and heavenly medi 
 tation, to perceive when quarrels and feuds were about 
 to develop, Thymert was king of his savage islands, 
 earning his kingship. His boat was moored before his 
 door; and at any moment, day or night, though the 
 Loch might be half submerged, and the waves besieging 
 the fort on the Cigogne like an arrm*, and booming 
 against the great rocks of Penfret, as if in jealous effort
 
 56 GUENN. 
 
 to reach the very top of the lighthouse tower, careless 
 of storm and danger, he would go, at any signal of dis 
 tress, to minister to his people. Simple, faithful soul, 
 man to the core of his brave heart, the young sailor- 
 priest scrupulously discharged the duties of his calling. 
 Yet often in the rude chapel on the Loch, whose rough 
 walls were adorned with votive offerings of ships and 
 glaring images of Our Lady of the Isles, mass was per 
 formed with almost miraculous speed, when the cure 
 had just heard that some little urchin on the last island 
 had broken his leg ; and once, when he was summoned 
 to old lame Jean, suddenly down with a fever, he was 
 seen leaping impetuously about the chancel a few mo 
 ments, then disappeared altogether ; and to this day, 
 the two old crones, who were mumbling their prayers 
 in their accustomed corner, cannot affirm whether 
 monsieur le recteur that morning said matins or ves 
 pers, or nothing at all. But the\ liked him none the 
 less for that, their impulsive, warm-hearted young cure. 
 As to Our Blessed Lad}- of the Isles, it never oc 
 curred to Thymert to question which would be more 
 acceptable to her, when the choice lay between a 
 sonorous liturgy in her honor, or a manly, helpful deed 
 to her poor folk. 
 
 The cure sat quietly waiting in Rodellec s small, 
 dark room. He instinctively shrank from the interview 
 which he was seeking. It was easier for him to reef 
 a sail in a gale of wind, than to meet the exigencies 
 of this occasion. Except under excitement, he was not 
 a fluent man. Words oppressed him at times. He had 
 not much confidence in them, and they were apt to 
 abandon him at his need. A dumb soul, like that of a 
 faithful hound, sometimes struggled for expression in 
 this man s eyes. He waited a half-hour scarcely with
 
 GUENN. 57 
 
 patience, }*et motionless by the table; then, looking 
 at his watch, he rose quickby and stood by Rodellec s 
 bed. 
 
 " Herve ! Wake up, man!" he said, with first a 
 gentle and then a vigorous shake of the sleeper s 
 shoulder. 
 
 Rodellec, muttering an oath, turned over heavily. 
 
 " Wake up, Rodellec ! I want you ! I ve come for 
 3-011 ! " and the strong voice, accustomed to be heard 
 above the roar of winds and waves, now reached the 
 man s dulled senses. 
 
 He started, opened his eyes, and saw, half blindly, the 
 black figure. Crossing himself repeatedly, he began 
 mumbling hurried, distracted prayers to Saint Herve of 
 Plouvenec, and Saint Jean de la Roche. 
 
 " I am not the devil," said the priest gravel} . " He 
 has not come for } ou, not yet, Herve," he added with 
 grim humor. " I am only Thy inert. I have come to 
 talk with you. Will you get up now?" 
 
 Rodellec crawled out of his bed as he had crawled in, 
 in a half-dressed condition. Morose and stupid, he 
 dropped upon the bench and gazed with listless eyes at 
 the cure standing before him, a slanting beam of light 
 from the little window falling upon the threadbare 
 soutane and broad shoulders, long black hair, dark 
 earnest eyes, and emotional mouth, but half trained 
 to the sternness it now wished to assume. 
 
 " You can t listen like that," the priest said with dis 
 satisfaction. u Drink something. I suppose } - ou cannot 
 eat. Is there no water here?" 
 
 " That cursed girl of mine," grumbled Rodellec. 
 
 Thymert spied the porridge, as well as a great green 
 jug of fresh water. 
 
 " Here ! " and his face softened, " the little girl
 
 58 GUENN. 
 
 did not forget you. Cool your brains with that,"- 
 pouring a gallon of water into a great earthen bowl. 
 "Again, again!" he cried, as Rodellec plunged his 
 heavy head into the cool water, then dried his hair 
 on one of Guenn s long blue aprons hanging in the 
 chimney-corner. 
 
 " Have you nothing to drink? " 
 
 " If it s all the same to you," replied Rodellec in a 
 shame-faced way. 
 
 " Drink then ! " said Thymert imperiously. 
 
 Rodellec reached up to the shelf for a quart of old, 
 hard cider, from which he took a long draught, and, 
 after a pause for breath, another. 
 
 "Do you want some?" he said to the priest, who 
 replied by a disdainful wave of the hand ; then rising, 
 he lifted the porridge from the hearthstone, and offered 
 it to Rodellec. 
 
 He took one spoonful, and pushed it aside with re 
 pugnance. The cure shrugged his shoulders. " I 
 thought as much," he said. Rodellec refreshed himself 
 with several more draughts from the flagon of cider. 
 Presently an expression of alert cunning stole into 
 his eyes. 
 
 Then Thymert said simply : " You are yourself now, 
 Herve ? You are awake ? " 
 
 "That I am, and glad to see the best friend a poor 
 devil like me ever had," returned Rodellec with an air 
 of bluff cordiality. 
 
 He was b} T no means a bad-looking man when neither 
 drunk nor in a brutal rage. His reddish-brown hair, 
 touched with. gray, waved back like Guenn s from a 
 broad forehead. His eyes, true Celtic blue, more mer 
 ciless than any dark eyes in the world, the eyes 
 that harden in aii2;er and give steel-like flashes of hate
 
 GUENN. 59 
 
 and cruelty, were now smiling at the cure with 
 pleasing frankness. 
 
 Simple people, who like to entertain the ingenuous con 
 viction that an ungovernable temper indicates honest}*, 
 and that only the false nature controls itself, also, that 
 a villain never looks you squarely in the face, might 
 have suffered an overthrow of their pet theories, with an 
 intimate knowledge of Herve Rodellec s career. His 
 bold eyes fell before no man. The}* could gaze, without 
 blinking, at the sun, spy a sa.il on the distant horizon, 
 stare innocence itself out of countenance. The violence 
 of his passions did not prevent him from possessing the 
 supposed opposite qualities of craftiness, cruelt}-, and 
 avarice. His instincts were brutal, his constitution was 
 a marvel of strength, his liver faultless. Consequently, 
 he never knew one moment s remorse for any crime he 
 had committed, any suffering he had caused. Tears 
 would start easily to his eyes as proof, to the credulous, 
 of tender feeling ; but his hard soul never wept. He 
 was a hypocrite, even to himself, and could only be 
 influenced by his greed or superstition. Such a man 
 might easily have deceived a clever student of human 
 nature, who, wishing to be just, would ask himself, What 
 is true here, what is false ? But Thymert s safety la} 
 in his extreme simplicity. Like a child who learns his 
 English Kings, draws his strong line of demarcation 
 through the tangled mazes of history, and says, unfal 
 teringly : "Richard was good, John was bad,"- so 
 Thymert s mind was also free from subtle perplexities 
 of good merging into bad, and bad creating good. To 
 him, Rodellec was a false man, therefore a bad man, to 
 be regarded with incessant, uncompromising distrust, 
 his maudlin tears, his oaths, his smiling friendliness, all 
 emanating alike from the Father of Lies.
 
 60 GUENN. 
 
 " I only want to speak about the children," Thymert 
 said, quietly ignoring Rodellec s outstretched hand. 
 
 " My dear children," began Rodellec in a sentimen 
 tal whine, " all that are left to the old man now, and 
 Barba gone to the angels." 
 
 " You forget that you are talking to me," said Thy 
 mert coldly. "Why waste your time, Herve? No 
 words can change what you and I know. You are 
 not an old man ; you are a strong sailor, in your prime. 
 Barba is gone to the angels, God rest her pure soul," 
 (he crossed himself devoutly,) "but Guenn and Nan 
 nie are still with you. I want to take care, if I can, 
 that a drunken kick does not send either of them to the 
 angels before their time." 
 
 "Has that brat of mine been telling on me?" de 
 manded Rodellec angrily, with an oath, and a blow of 
 his fist on the stout table. 
 
 " I have not spoken with Guenn since the Pardon at 
 Bernodet. Something tells me when to come, Herve." 
 
 Rodellec crossed himself hastily. 
 
 What Breton peasant does not believe in revenants? 
 and Barba was Thymert s cousin. Then, familiarly as 
 the cures may live with the people, something of the 
 veneration of their ancestors for the Druid priests and 
 bards still lingers with the superstitious Breton folk. 
 
 " I did hit her the other day, but it was an accident," 
 he muttered uneasily. 
 
 The dark face of the priest flushed to the temples. 
 
 "It was a mere trifle." Rodellec raised the cider- 
 flagon to his lips, and smiled reassuringly at the 
 cure. 
 
 " Rodellec, unless }"ou want to burn eternally in hell," 
 began Thymert solemnly, "you will not harm the 
 children. Is it not enough to have killed the mother
 
 GUENN. 61 
 
 and crippled the son ? I promised Barba, on her death 
 bed, I would protect the children. The} were hungry 
 at Bernodet, Herve ; and Guenn had an ugly bruise on 
 her cheek. No, she did not tell me what it was. 
 Guenn does not tell tales, any more than a carved saint 
 in a niche. . I asked her. She tossed her head, laughed 
 and said, Meme chose, and ran off to dance the 
 gavotte with Jeanne s brother Alain. Brave little 
 Guenn ! " The young man s face softened into a 
 gentle smile of remembrance. 
 
 " She is an undutiful daughter. She neglects her 
 poor old father, and gads about the streets ; and that s 
 the truth, monsieur le recteur." 
 
 "She is a faithful, hard-working child. She brings 
 you forty francs a month, and more, from the usine ; 
 besides what she earns extra as bu} er, for errands, and 
 for help at the Voyageurs. But if she were all 3*011 say, 
 and worse, whose fault would it be?" 
 
 " Things have gone badly with me," Rodellec com 
 plained. "I have no wife to look after my house. I 
 have no money. I have no luck with my fishing. I 
 have a son who is a humpback. I have a hard-hearted 
 daughter. I am an unlucky man." He eyed Thy- 
 mert slyly under his drooping lashes. 
 
 "Tell that to your drunken companions," the cure 
 answered scornfully. " Listen to me, Rodellec," he 
 said, with his most imperious air. " This is not the 
 first time it will unhappily not be the last that 
 I come to you for } r our dead wife s sake, and for the 
 sake of her children. If the} 7 were nearer me, if I 
 could take care of them at the Lannions, if there were 
 any wa}- " Over the priest s young face flitted a 
 warm, conscious look. 
 
 " You would not separate a father from his children? "
 
 62 GUENN. 
 
 Eodellec sniffed and wiped his ej es, considering the 
 francs that Guenn brought home. 
 
 "I ask no promise of yon," Tlvpnert continued 
 sternly, utterly disregarding the interruption. " I don t 
 believe your oath on the crucifix, your prayers before 
 the Great White Throne. But this I tell you. You are 
 not to give your children blows, and 3-011 are to give 
 them bread. Nannie must go to school. Guenn must 
 be properly clothed and looked after, looked after, 
 do yon understand ? Poor child, she has only 3-011 
 you, and all these strangers and clangers about you, 
 and she so little and so young you, and that beauti 
 ful bright face you, Herve" Rodellec, worse than 
 nobody ! But listen ! " and Tliymert rose threaten 
 ingly " if 3 ou let her go cold and -hungry, if you dare 
 to strike her once again with } T our cruel fist, if } - ou lead 
 her into any harm or danger, I will denounce 3 ou as 
 an accursed thing. I will tell all Plouvenec what I 
 know, outside of the confessional, mind you, and what 
 I may tell like any other, and no honest sailor will sail 
 with 3*011 for fear of his own soul ; and no man will eat 
 or drink with 3-011, and 3-011 shall go up and down on 
 the earth, a leper and an outcast, cursed by man, cursed 
 b3" the Church, - and every piece of gold, buried some 
 where in your field, cursed where it lies, cursed in its 
 use, cursed 
 
 "Monsieur le recteur," gasped Rodellec in terror, 
 " monsieur le recteur ! " 
 
 Thymert stopped, sat down, and covered his face with 
 his hands. " What am I doing? " he murmured. 
 
 " Monsieur le recteur," and Rodellec s outstretched, 
 brawn3 r hand trembled perceptibly, "did 3 ou curse 
 me then ? Is it already done ? " 
 
 "No no, man," replied the cure in a low voice, 
 without moving.
 
 GUENN. 63 
 
 " I am poor. I have but little gold," whined Rodel- 
 lec, " a mere handful put awa} for my old age ; but I 
 will offer ten francs to Our Lady of the Lannions, and 
 five to Saint Herve" of Plouvenec, and Guenn can have 
 a new gown and a kerchief, and the boy shall go to 
 school. I always meant to send Nannie to school. 
 You are quite sure that I am not cursed, monsieur le 
 recteur?" 
 
 Thymert removed his face from his hands. He was 
 very pale, and looked at Rodellec in an absent, weary 
 way. " Take care of your children," he said. " There 
 are dangers for children in a place like Plouvenec." 
 
 "Dangers?" Rodellec was relieved to find himself 
 no longer the subject under discussion. " What dan 
 gers ? Guenn is a wildcat, and they are all as afraid 
 of Nannie as if he were the devil s own imp." He 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 " I must go." Thymert rose abruptly. " I have 
 still much to do. Remember what I say, Herve. I 
 shall know if you do not. Something will tell me. 
 Good-day." 
 
 " Oh yes, I shall remember, monsieur le recteur," 
 said Rodellec, following him to the door. "Never 
 fear " dreading a stronger repetition of the curses 
 which he felt he had barely escaped ; "ten francs for 
 Our Lady of the Isles, and five francs for Saint Herve 
 of Plouvenec, and a gown and a kerchief for Guenn, 
 and Nannie is to go to school. Ah yes, . I shall re 
 member, monsieur le recteur." 
 
 Thymert did not once turn his head, or notice him 
 again, but went swinging down the road in his old sou 
 tane, his open breviary in his hand. 
 
 That night, when Guenn came home, her father was 
 already there. " Here," he said, " take that and wear
 
 64 GUENN. 
 
 it." It was a pretty half-silk kerchief, dark-red, and 
 soft for a young girl s shoulders. Guenn frowned and 
 put her hands behind her. 
 
 " Don t want it," she said sullenly. 
 
 "You wear it to-morrow, and you tell them all I 
 bought it for you, do you hear?" he said with a 
 menacing look in his eyes, advancing towards her. 
 
 Guenn did not answer. Had the kerchief been wo 
 ven of poisoned threads, she could not have regarded 
 it with more suspicion and defiance. 
 
 "Tell them all Jeanne and Nona, Madame Qua- 
 per and madarne at the Voyageurs, and all the women 
 at the usine that it was a present from your father. 
 Well, why don t you speak?" shaking her roughly. 
 Guenn s face set with a more dogged obstinacy. 
 
 " If you hurt her, he ll know," said a voice from the 
 corner. Nannie had stolen noiselessly in, and with his 
 long elbows on the table, his pale face in his hands, 
 was calmly watching the scene. Rodellec was startled. 
 Nannie had an unpleasant habit of startling everybody 
 except Guenn, who was never surprised or distressed 
 by any whim of his. 
 
 " Who will know? " demanded the father. 
 
 Nannie smiled maliciously. 
 
 "Where were you this morning?" asked Rodellec 
 uneasily. 
 
 "Down on the shore, playing with souls playing 
 with souls souls souls," chanted the boy with a 
 strange rhythm of his own. He had discovered, very 
 early in his young life, that his father s heavy hand 
 could be arrested only by a clever appeal to the super 
 natural. The role he had assumed to protect his weak 
 body had grown to be second-nature, and it was 
 impossible to say to what degree Nannie was playing
 
 GUENN. 65 
 
 fine comecly, and how far he actually believed himself 
 endowed with the prophetic gifts of the ancient Breton 
 bards and seers. As he could insert his diminutive 
 person into very small spaces, and had no insurmount 
 able prejudice against eavesdropping, his strong curi 
 osity and very good memory were richly fed ; and 
 Nannie Rodellec, in spite of his youth and deformit} , 
 found his fellow-creatures an interesting study, often 
 an amusing plaything. 
 
 Tell me what you mean. What have 3-011 seen and 
 heard?" said his father violently. " Talk, for once, 
 like a human being." 
 
 " I saw all that there was to see. I heard all that 
 there was to hear, pla} ing with souls on the waves 
 waves -waves," rolling up his eyes, and fixing them 
 intently, and in an unpleasantly suggestive manner, on 
 a point behind his father s head. 
 
 Rodellec involuntarily glanced over his shoulder. 
 Somewhat ashamed of yielding to the impulse, he said 
 roughl}*: " Nannie, yon are to go to school. Go to 
 morrow, and put some sense into j*our empt} pate, if 
 you can." 
 
 " I knew I was to go to school. I will go, but they 
 can t teach me anything. I knew it all, long ago 
 long ago long ago." 
 
 Guenn looked affectionately at her brother, and 
 laughed. 
 
 " Nannie, what did you see?" she said quite gently. 
 " What do you know to-day? " 
 
 " I saw Thymert," answered Nannie bluntly, like an 
 ordinary child. " I want something to eat, Guenn. 
 I m hungry as a dog. I want some crepes." 
 " Oh ! " said Guenn, with eagerness. 
 She stooped quickly and picked up the kerchief. 
 5
 
 66 
 
 GUENN. 
 
 "Did Thymert make you buy this for me?" she 
 asked her father boldly. "Was he here to-day?" 
 She began smoothing it softly. It looked pretty to her 
 now. 
 
 " Wear it, little fool," he said brutally ; which was 
 the last word Rodellec vouchsafed his family that night. 
 Guenn smilingly folded it, and carefully laid it away 
 before she went for Nannie s crepes. Soon the Ilodel- 
 lecs were sleeping as peacefully as if the} had been 
 gentle, well-bred, and united.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HAMOR pitched his tent at Ploavenec with char 
 acteristic ease. lie was soon installed in his 
 studio, had adapted himself to the prevailing customs, 
 and begun work. There were thirty or forty artists in 
 the neighborhood, leading apparently the happiest life 
 in the world. This polyglot colon y was accepted by 
 the natives, in general, with stolid sufferance. To 
 them, the painters were all foreigners, a genuine 
 Breton having no more in common with a Parisian 
 than with a Norwegian or a Greek. 
 
 The artists increased somewhat the liveliness of 
 trade in Plouvcnec ; a fact appreciated by its shop 
 keepers, who liked their small gains and knew how to 
 hoard them. 
 
 Plouvenec at times was noisier than a great city, 
 and with its bustle, mixed population, and summer 
 visitors, was slowly becoming more or less modernized. 
 Its petite bourgeoise regarded itself with pride, and had
 
 08 GUENN. 
 
 its local scandals, feuds, and rivalries, like the rest of 
 the world. It ordered foulards and antiquated fashion- 
 plates from Nantes, which showed a certain power of 
 assimilation. Still, in the population of pure Breton 
 descent, among the peasants, sailors, and workmen, 
 much remained of the old Celtic element, of the 
 "hearts of oak, hearts of granite" proudly sung by 
 Breton poets. The oak and granite attributes, however 
 admirable in Breton ballads, seemed now to display 
 themselves chiefly in indomitable resistance to new 
 ideas. To this day there are to be found, in small 
 hamlets and on lonely farms, men who live in the stone 
 houses of their remote ancestors, and who have not 
 made the slightest perceptible advance upon the ideas 
 and civilization of a long-past age. They wear its 
 costume, and, under their flowing hair, cherish its 
 prejudices. 
 
 A man of this description takes care of his money in 
 the good old Breton wa}*, dropping it coin by coin into 
 a bag, which he secretes in a snug corner of his farm. 
 This conservative method of banking is apt to produce 
 results which, even to the most optimistic vision, present 
 an undignified picture of human nature. For, the mo 
 ment the Heart-of-oak breathes his last, the next of 
 kin, instead of devoting themselves to decorous mourn 
 ing, are to be seen breathlessly upturning his field. 
 
 The heart-of-oak quality was also prominently de 
 veloped among the mechanics of Plouvenec, as the 
 artists found to their cost when they wished a bit of 
 quick work done, a window altered, or a packing-case 
 in which to send off some pictures to Paris. Instead of 
 a box lightly put together, yet sufficiently durable to 
 bear a day s journey, the Heart-of-oak persisted in 
 making the ideal box of his ancestors, massive as a
 
 GUENN. 69 
 
 monument, firm as a dolmen, heavy as lead ; in itself 
 an admirable structure, but wholly unsuited to the 
 purpose for which it was created. The Heart-of- 
 oak ignored instruction and expostulation, communing 
 thus with himself: " Shall I allow a foreign gars to 
 explain to me the properties of a box? Shall a man 
 who spends his days in daubing paint on good sail 
 cloth dictate to me about dimensions, wood, and nails? 
 Je m en moque bien ! " 
 
 But the painters occupied the land ; and the villagers, 
 for the most part, tolerated them. As long as the 
 strangers conducted themselves discreetly, bearing in 
 mind that they were but aliens ; as long as they 
 abstained from stealing the sailors sweethearts, and 
 turning the heads of the woman population in general ; 
 as long as they forbore to interfere with fights, paid 
 their bills, and let well enough alone, the} were welcome 
 to stride through Breton forests, to haunt the lovely 
 chemins creux, to make telescopes of their hands and 
 stare in rapture at the sky, to exhibit their familiar 
 brown corduroys on every crag and beach, to put a 
 girdle of camp-stools and easels round Plouvenec and 
 all the adjacent hamlets. 
 
 But what the natives thought of the painters is quite 
 a different matter. Happily we are not alwa}*s required 
 to define our impressions. An honest thresher, thresh 
 ing with his chosen band in the field before his cottage- 
 door, stops to answer the civil question of the stranger 
 leaning over the gate. In the brief pause before the 
 cheerful flail begins again, the thresher and his com 
 panions have drawn their conclusions of a man who, 
 even as he speaks about grain, is rolling his rapt eyes 
 heavenwards in unconscious search for a background. 
 The sailors, lounging on the parapet at the end of the
 
 70 GUENN. 
 
 digue, attract the pleased gaze of an artist. His glance 
 falls with a certain tenderness npon their bronzed faces, 
 their dull-blue blouses, their scarlet belts, their free 
 action. He speaks with them. There is something 
 warm and southern in their faded reflections. He is 
 reminded of Genoa, of Naples. He composes a picture 
 then and there. 
 
 Suddenly, across the shining waves, he spies a rarer 
 subject. A bare-legged boy shrimping, and wearing, for 
 motives of convenience, one short garment. Gray npon 
 gray ! A dull gray shirt upon a clear-gray beach, by 
 gray-green water, background, smok} green-gray 
 genet against a blue-gray sky. Variations of aesthetic 
 gray. A harmony ! Atmosphere, values, distance, 
 such thoughts absorb the artist s soul. He forgets the 
 existence of the bronzed sailors, his words die away 
 unfinished on the air, his telescopic hands fly into 
 position. Then, wheeling swiftly, he turns his back 
 upon the precious gray shrimper, stoops and looks at 
 him through an inverted Fof brown velveteen. What 
 can the brave Breton sailors think of this untram 
 melled action of genius? Surety, that the able-bodied 
 stranger is either a madman or a fool, with perhaps a 
 strong inclination towards the latter. The unconscious 
 artist goes his way, making telescopes of his hands, 
 framing landscapes with his legs. The sailors thoughts 
 are free. They exercise their sovereign right of 
 ridiculing what they do not understand. Now, as in 
 classic cUiys, strangers are barbarians. 
 
 Thus the sturdy Bretons regarded the painters. 
 Among the artists, while there were wheels within 
 wheels of acquaintance, and a man might happen to 
 have a friend, two or more friends, no friends, in 
 general he was to another artist exactly what he repre-
 
 GUENN. 71 
 
 scntcd in art, no more, no less. Jones was a man with 
 a second medal. Brown had begun well, but was 
 now painting abominable chic. Most of them were 
 workers. If a man did not care to work, he was not 
 apt to stay long in Plouvenec. Paris, indeed, was not 
 far off, when one grew weary and discourrvged, and 
 craved excitement. They concerned themselves little 
 about one another. It was natural to recognize a 
 brother artist whom one passed every da} T in the same 
 lane, whom one saw smoking an after-dinner cigar at 
 the same table, or playing a game of billiards regularly 
 in the cafe. Still, in Plouvenec every man was for him 
 self. Now and then a stray fact would escape from 
 the closed pages of a life, and produce a brief flutter 
 ing effect. But what did it matter, after all, whether 
 the so-called Robinson was prince or peasant ? The 
 question was, could he paint? 
 
 Yet unrevcaled, in the gay little painter- world, were 
 half-finished romances, tragedies with the fifth act 
 undetermined, unwritten poems, pathetic Madonnas of 
 the future. Among them all, there was scarcely a man 
 whose circumstances were quite propitious. One had 
 shaken off the burden of uncongenial employment too 
 late in life to ever become in art what he might have 
 been. Mediocrity was his portion, and he knew it; yet 
 he worked with feverish haste, as if to atone for the 
 time he had lost, and with a great patience saw his in 
 feriors mastering the technique which was his master. 
 Another was depressed by the relentless opposition of 
 his family to his career. Worldly ease and the woman 
 he loved would reward him for deserting his art. 
 Another, who, pure of aim, had forced his way through 
 toil and privation, and won his freedom to follow his 
 heart s desire, he to whom life upon life would be
 
 72 GUENN. 
 
 too brief a time for all his glowing fancy longed to 
 reveal, knew that his days were numbered. 
 
 Then, prosaic and displeasing as the fact may appear, 
 the majority lacked the moral support of a comfortable 
 income, and were chafed by the endless rubs life bestows 
 upon spirits that disdain pecuniary restrictions, and 
 meet them at every turn. The hero of the modern 
 analytical novel seems too often to command unlimited 
 wealth. His problems are purely psychological. When 
 he suffers a disappointment in love, he is apt to travel 
 first-class across two continents, or spend a winter in 
 Egypt burying his sorrows in a dahabeeh, which he 
 has engaged exclusively for himself and his faithful 
 but expensive servant. 
 
 Then the poor but honest young man has reaped 
 more than his share of golden harvests in moral tales. 
 But who is moved to sing the manifold deeds of the 
 unnumbered throng who all their lives have just too 
 little, who do not suffer from hunger or cold, who 
 never wear patched raiment, or in any way appeal to 
 the sympathies of the philanthropist, who have expen 
 sive tastes and the training of gentlemen, and always 
 just too little to carry out their dearest wish, too little 
 to be free men? 
 
 Such, for the most part, were the Plouvenec painters ; 
 and when one of them seemed chosen of the gods, when 
 friends and wealth and talent favored him, and he had 
 been dedicated, even as a child, to the service of Art, 
 and now stood in his j-outh and strength with the world 
 at his feet, then the inevitable flaw was in his own soul, 
 and he lacked the pure devotion, the " infinite capacity 
 for taking pains " which Art exacts of her followers. 
 
 As a rule, the men with sad histories wore cheerful 
 countenances, went blithely to their work by day, and
 
 GUENN. 73 
 
 were the best possible company evenings ; while the 
 men of eas}* fortune, monotonous lives, and it may be 
 a touch of ctyspcpsia, were apt to shun society, and ill 
 their settled melancholy, the imaginative eye could read 
 a tale of doom. 
 
 Day after day, month after month, the artists worked 
 on the meadows, b} T the lavoirs, and along the shores 
 of the noble bay where the tawny sails were always 
 passing to and fro, with hints of Venice in their ardent 
 tone. And working, they were happy in spite of the 
 past, the future, the fates, for such work is joy. From 
 this little corner of Brittany, magnetic fibres, thrilled 
 with aspiration and enthusiasm, reached to lands be 
 yond seas, and trembled in. response with a burden 
 of pra} ers and hope and warm desire ; and there were 
 more colors on the painter s canvas than the world s 
 cj es could discern. Of them all, Everett Hamor was 
 perhaps as free as any one from inconvenience aris 
 ing from affections or regrets. 
 
 He knew most of the artists by reputation, man} T of 
 them personally, and had been much with Staunton and 
 Douglas in Paris. Douglas was a long-legged brown- 
 bearded Scotchman. He had a way of stalking into 
 his friends studios, silently staring about with ex 
 tremely kind e} es, and stalking out again, solemn and 
 silent as he came. He was slow of speech, usually 
 deliberate in his judgment, yet capable of sudden and 
 violent prejudices, honest, obstinate, and kind. He 
 liked to listen to a good story, and his pleasant, low 
 laugh always followed one with a visible and brilliant 
 point. But he often afforded his friends exquisite enjoy 
 ment, b}* his mild unconsciousness of the humor of a 
 situation. His life had been full of difficulty and self- 
 sacrifice, and life had but recently taken up painting. If
 
 74 GUENN. 
 
 tenacity alone would make a master, Douglas was sure 
 of fame. He was a cautious, conscientious man ; and 
 although no one else doubted his ability, he himself was 
 by no means convinced that his degree of talent justified 
 his devotion to art. This misgiving oppressed him fre 
 quently, and made him more silent than ever. His 
 discouragement closed in around him like a heavy fog. 
 
 Staunton was a strong landscape-painter ; and other 
 wise, an amiable young Englishman, with a compact, 
 well-built figure of medium size, long gray ej es, and 
 curly brown hair, closety cropped. He was endowed 
 with aristocratic and influential connections, and spelled 
 societ} with a capital S. He had travelled along the 
 highways of life in irreproachable company. Bywa} S 
 were not to his taste. His views of society, religion, 
 and politics were purely conservative ; but when Ilamor 
 or Douglas chose to express iconoclastic tendencies, he 
 would smile in his sweet-tempered fashion, and abandon 
 the field of controvers} T . The}" were capable of hot dis 
 cussions, of quarrelling about a principle, an idea. 
 
 Staunton s gentle tone was a part of himself. The 
 courteous modulations of his voice were never blurred 
 by excitement. His frank comment upon passing things 
 was always read} ; but his real reticence was greater 
 than that of the silent, cautious Scotchman. Douglas 
 would differ with you bluntly upon occasion. You 
 would only suspect Staunton of differing with you, be 
 cause you would fail to extract any opinion whatever 
 from him. Hamor had once laughingly accused him of 
 travelling incognito. " I travel very comfortably, at 
 least," Staunton replied softly. 
 
 Why and how Staunton and Hamor had drifted 
 together was a question each had frequently asked him 
 self. But they felt, upon the whole, comfortable to-
 
 GUENN. 75 
 
 gethcr, which is perhaps the foundation of most inti 
 macies among men. Then when Staunton looked at 
 his friend s pictures, he dropped his incognito. The 
 real man spoke unhesitatingly. In art, they found 
 each other. Conventionality, exaggeration, and fantas 
 tic masks fell away, and they became simple and true. 
 Each felt profound respect for the other s talent, and 
 was proud of his success. 
 
 Hamor had been a week in Plouvenec, when he said 
 one morning to his friends, as the three were taking their 
 coifee, each absorbed in a newspaper, " If you have 
 a half-hour to spare, come over and see my atelier." 
 
 "Atelier? I didn t know that there was another 
 available room in Plouvenec. And you are welcome to 
 mine. I told you so," said Staunton. 
 
 "This is not a room." 
 
 "I suppose it s a temple not made with hands, if 
 you are in it. All your geese are swans," drawled 
 Douglas. 
 
 " Come on," said Hamor oracularl}-. 
 
 " My dear fellow, do you flatter }"ourself that you 
 can do the honors of Plouvenec to two old residents ? " 
 Staunton remarked, as the young men walked along. 
 
 "Well, I know I have found a good big place to 
 work in. Even if one s out-of-doors most of the time, 
 one wants some headquarters. You two can move your 
 traps in, if you like." 
 
 " Come now, Hamor, I like that," Staunton said with 
 a smile. "There s a tremendously conquering-hero 
 air about } ou this morning. I don t see anything 
 supernaturally clever in stumbling upon a room." 
 
 " Reserve your opinion until you see if I have stum 
 bled. Here we are." And he ushered them through 
 a high tunnel-like stone entrance, past heavy wagons,
 
 76 GUENN. 
 
 and a red and yellow omnibus, in its brief hour of 
 relaxation. 
 
 With an air of ownership, he took from his pocket a 
 ponderous key, unlocked a gate which opened into a 
 court about eighty feet square. It was empty and 
 sunny, with buildings on three sides, and a high fence 
 separating it from the paved lane or carriage-way 
 through which they had come. Hamor locked the gate, 
 and, smiling, made a sweeping gesture with his right 
 arm. The young men stood looking about critically. 
 
 " Veiy good, so far," said Staunton. " Good place 
 to dry pictures. What next?" 
 
 Hamor conducted them to the large building at the 
 back of the yard. A rude outside stairway, its stops 
 perilous and now and then wanting, turned the corner 
 and led to the upper floor. 
 
 "My castle," he said, as the}" entered. 
 
 It was a garret of unusual size, with three deep dor 
 mer-windows looking towards the court, and three little 
 loop-hole windows in the roof on the other side, staring 
 up at the sky. The rough rafters were warm browns 
 and grays one end-wall, dull-yellow brick, the other 
 of irregularly placed whitewashed stones. A huge 
 white-plastered chimney rose in monumental fashion 
 near the end of the room. 
 
 The place smelt of fruit stored there to ripen. Phe 
 nomenal cobwebs graced the rafters and broken window- 
 panes, delighting the painters e}-es. Empty packing- 
 cases were lying about the floor. Hamor piled up sev 
 eral of them. 
 
 " Sit down, won t you," he said hospitably, at the 
 same time seating himself. 
 
 "There s a good bit!" Staunton stared at the far 
 thest window, muttering: "Jeanne knitting by that
 
 GUENN. 77 
 
 broken stone window-seat golden lichens on the roof 
 outside - fine effect of light and values very Rem 
 brandt, warm, rich tones in the background." 
 
 " How did you happen to get here? " asked Douglas 
 in his measured accents. 
 
 " By what the people who use dictionar}-- words would 
 call the force of an imperious inspiration." 
 
 " And in the kind of words you nse?" 
 
 " Oh, I kissed a child, talked with a woman, got the 
 keys, walked in, and took possession. It was very 
 simple." 
 
 " You kissed one of those children ?" Staunton turned 
 with considerable animation, and pointed in a compre 
 hensive way at the stables. 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " My dear Hamor, I beg }*our pardon if I seemed to 
 object to the insolence of success in your manner just 
 now. I am not the man to underrate heroism. Wh} , I 
 would n t kiss one of that brood to save your soul." 
 
 " Thanks," replied Hamor, laughing. Then reflect 
 ively, "I think I hit upon rather a clean spot." 
 
 " Good heavens, it is inconceivable," Staunton said 
 gently. 
 
 "And I liked the little thing," added Hamor 
 seriously. 
 
 Staunton looked amused and incredulous. 
 
 "Now Hamor means that, 3-011 know," Douglas 
 commented. 
 
 "Ah," said Staunton with a little shrug, "that 
 alters the case. De gustibus, &c. But you don t tell 
 us how you managed to get this place. I ve noticed 
 the building often enough. I had the idea it was full 
 of something grain or timber." 
 
 " Well, whatever it was full of, it is now full of
 
 78 GUENN. 
 
 genius. The fact is I was prowling about in search 
 of a studio. To speak plainly, I don t like your stuffy 
 little dens. Which was the saint who, when in doubt, 
 threw his stick, and went wherever it pointed?" 
 
 "When in doubt he should have played trumps," 
 Douglas interposed. 
 
 "He did probably. So did I. At all events I 
 found myself in front of the stables, gazing up at that 
 window over the entrance, and a woman and a child 
 were gazing down at me. The stables were empty, 
 except for a few decrepit nags. I had explored the 
 whole place and the lane down there, and I saw that the 
 court looked big and promising. I went back and plant 
 ed myself prominently in sight. I took off my hat to the 
 woman in the window. She came down presently and 
 said that her mari was out, and everybod} else was out ; 
 and if I wanted a carriage to go to Quimper, I would 
 be obliged to wait until somebody came back. Three 
 small and, I must say, exceedingly dirty children trailed 
 down the stairs after her. She was a tired little 
 woman." 
 
 Hamor smiled, and lighted a cigarette. She seemed 
 to like to lean against a post in the sunshine, and talk 
 about Quimper." 
 
 Douglas groaned. 
 
 "I told her that I couldn t settle myself down to 
 anything until I had seen Quknper, that the thought 
 of Quimper kept me awake nights." 
 
 " Oh, come now," mildly expostulated Staunton. 
 
 " Well, I did ask her, with a kind of feverishness you 
 know, how soon she thought she could furnish me with 
 any sort of a vehicle, even the most rudimentary, to 
 drive over there," Ilarnor went on, laughing a little ; 
 " and I agreed to come the next day and see about it.
 
 GUENN. 79 
 
 Then, after patting the children at random, I discovered 
 the prettiest one, and declared it was the image of 
 its mother." 
 
 "I should have supposed that too feeble even for 
 Plouvenec womankind." 
 
 " My dear Staunton, there is no place on earth where 
 woman can resist double-barrelled flatter} . Then, 
 although I will not insist upon this point, I positively 
 do like children, and children always like ine." 
 
 " Ah? " said Staunton politely. 
 
 "But he means that," Douglas again explained, 
 " and he is proud of it heaven knows why. It s no 
 proof of character." 
 
 " I am proud of it," Hamor said with grave em 
 phasis. "I am very proud indeed, that children and 
 animals like me." 
 
 Grunted," and Staunton affably waived discussion. 
 
 Hamor continued lightly as before: "And then I 
 lifted him up high and dry, and kissed him on his cheek. 
 As I said, I think it was a comparatively clean spot. 
 The}- wash their faces Sundays, don t the} ? This was 
 Friday. Not that I care," he added liberally. "Then 
 I confided to the tired little woman, leaning against a 
 post, some of my aspirations exclusive of Quimper. 
 I ascertained that nobody used the granary, and almost 
 nobody the wheelwright s shop at the right ; while the 
 stables, as you see, do not open upon the court at all. 
 She and I finally roamed here in the granary together. 
 Its possibilities impressed me. She, at least her mari, 
 had the refusal of it, but it belongs to Morot. I saw 
 him. Result, granary and court are mine, for the 
 paltry consideration of twenty francs a month." 
 
 "Morot, indeed !" said Staunton, surprised. "He 
 might have suggested it before."
 
 80 GUENN. 
 
 " Well now, you can t expect people to think for } ou. 
 It s enough that we have it now, is n t it? You can 
 move in down below, or, for that matter, make use of 
 this upper loft whenever you like." 
 
 " Thanks. It s very kind of you, I m sure and a 
 capital kind of barracks," Staunton replied cordially. 
 
 " That chimney s a ghastly figure in the landscape," 
 remarked Douglas with a critical air. 
 
 "Oh, I 11 paint a blazing fire-spirit on it," the lord 
 of the manor said cheerfully. " The fireplace itself 
 is n t bad, you see. I m going to close up these beastly 
 little loop-holes, and let in one large light overhead, 
 about here, I should say ; and 1 11 hang some old red 
 sails in the dormer-windows. Oh, I am charmed with 
 it all, you know!" he went on expansively. "It s 
 like the New England garret where I used to play when 
 I was a bo} . It only wants a few chests of musty old 
 books and pamphlets, some corn and dried apples, and 
 branches of herbs hanging from the rafters, old 
 garments in the corner, swaying in the breeze and filling 
 out as if bodies were in them. How delightfully one s 
 flesh used to crawl ! And the fruity smell, and the 
 winds whistling through the broken panes, and the 
 cobwebs " Hamor was smiling a little absently, with 
 a strong look of reminiscence on his face. 
 
 Douglas stared kindly enough at the 3*ounger man. 
 "Well, weren t we all boys? Do you think New 
 England has any monopoly of garrets ? Had n t we all 
 garrets ? " 
 
 "I can t say that I ever played in one," Staunton 
 admitted, somewhat amused. " I don t remember that 
 we had one. But I am not to blame for my want of 
 sentiment about it, you know we were in Paris so 
 much when I was a boy," he added in smiling apology.
 
 GUENN. 81 
 
 " No, you couldn t help that. There s a great deal 
 you can t help, Staunton," Douglas said dryly. 
 
 " Here," and Ilamor flung open a door in the 
 yellow wall at the farther end, "I have all possible 
 conveniences. Old Morot hanged himself on that 
 beam. There are five other beams, one for each of 
 us and two to spare. Only discouraged painters need 
 apply." 
 
 The young men glanced into the dark unfinished 
 building, the continuation of Hamor s granary, but 
 having only a ground-floor. 
 
 " It s an ugly hole. If one did not know about it, 
 one could open the door and step off into the next 
 world." 
 
 "Or at least into splints, and the like unpleasant 
 concomitants of broken bones," added Staunton. 
 
 " Now it can t be on account of old Morot, that 
 they do not use this great building," Hamor reflected. 
 
 "Of course it is precisely that," Staunton said with 
 his pleasant smile. " These people are inconceivably 
 superstitious." 
 
 " A superstitious age, like every other phase of 
 human history," began Douglas sententiously, "has its 
 distinctive virtues, which must necessarily decline before 
 a new stage of progress can be attained. Lecky." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, but just ask Lecky what bane 
 ful influence ghosts are supposed to exercise upon 
 grain." 
 
 "Ask old Morot himself, if ever you see him," sug 
 gested Staunton. "I must be off now, Hamor. Ill 
 certain!}* move in, the first rainy day, and I m awfully 
 obliged, I m sure. I forgive you for being cleverer 
 than I. If you ll kiss the dirty babies and flirt with 
 the tired little women, I shall always be glad to 
 
 6
 
 82 GUENN. 
 
 come in for a share of the spoils, you know ; " giving 
 Ilamor his hand cordially. 
 
 " What will you take for your staff, Ilamor?" Doug 
 las asked slowly. 
 
 "It s not for sale, old fellow. It s my one earthly 
 possession. But I must go down and unlock the gate 
 for you." He produced his large key, and they walked 
 down the narrow stairway and across the sunny court. 
 " Upon the whole, I think I 11 go along. Perhaps I can 
 hunt up some sails ; and at least, I can begin instruc 
 tions about nry window." 
 
 " I wish you joy of that undertaking," Staunton said, 
 with his wise little laugh. 
 
 " It will be the toughest work you ever did," 
 Douglas added. 
 
 The three young men walked down the middle of the 
 straight long road, between the high garden-walls. 
 
 The tired little woman, from her window over the 
 entrance, looked after them with a sigh. Yes, it was 
 good to be gay like that, to amuse one s self with 
 painting pictures. And it was good to be a man. 
 Then indeed one could laugh without a care in the 
 Avorld. Ilamor had forgotten her as he passed out 
 beneath her window. Now he turned suddenly, took 
 off his hat and smiled back at her. 
 
 " Quimper," he remarked gravely to his friends, 
 "was founded by somebody or other who escaped 
 from the siege of Troy. It is celebrated for its cathe 
 dral, in which the line of the choir does not follow the 
 line of the nave, but runs off fifteen feet towards the 
 north. Quimper 
 
 " Confound Quimper ! " said Douglas. 
 "I m sure I have no objection," Ilamor answered 
 with u laua;h.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ROM that time the little wo 
 man saw the three gay young 
 men coining and going at 
 all hours. She would hear 
 them laugh under the arched 
 entrance ; and then she 
 would wait for Hamor s 
 bright look up to her win 
 dow, and his smile. She 
 liked to watch them walk 
 down the road between the 
 
 walls, the solemn man with the brown beard; the 
 smaller man, with the quick step and pleasant eyes. 
 They were all amiable 3*oung men, and gay ; and that 
 she liked. But surely for kindness and grace, and the 
 most charming smile in the world, there was never a 
 man like Monsieur Hamor. 
 
 The}* came in and out separately too. The man with 
 the beard sometimes walked slowly in, his head droop 
 ing, his eyes fixed on the ground. She could almost 
 think he was sad, but that was absurd. How could a 
 man be sad who had nothing to do but to sit down there 
 in the sunny court and amuse himself? Then, how a 
 man could be sad at all was a mystery to the little 
 woman. The one in gray, with the pleasant 63*68,
 
 84 GUENN. 
 
 he, too, would now and then come in late in the after 
 noon, with a grave face and a slower step, and would 
 often forget to look up to her window. He had a great 
 picture with him. 
 
 He was tired, no doubt. She realized that men could 
 be physically weaiy. But Monsieur Hamor never hung 
 his head, never looked tired, never forgot his cheery 
 greeting. She knew his light, rapid step as far as she 
 could hear it. Best of all was when the three came in 
 and out together ; for when Monsieur Hamor was with 
 his friends, there were always jests and pleasant laugh 
 ter, which rose to her window and made all the air 
 around seem gaj*. 
 
 Staunton and Douglas had moved their possessions 
 into the lower half of the granar} . Staunton in these 
 da}-s was usually off, working upon a large landscape, 
 down on a distant beach. Douglas was devoting him 
 self assiduously to one model, whose vivid red petticoat 
 he intended should sing in the foreground of his picture 
 of a group of washerwomen at a lavoir. It was an inter 
 esting subject. His oaks were good, and the action of 
 some of his women. His water was "not yet wet 
 enough," Hamor told him, when summoned to criticise ; 
 " but a pool of soapy water need not be so wet as waves," 
 he added, " and paint all round your women, Douglas, 
 
 paint behind thorn. Get in behind your subject, as 
 Millais used to say." All day long, with brief intervals 
 of repose, the woman knelt in the middle of the court, 
 her square back turned towards the artist, the singing 
 red folds over her broad hips absorbing his whole being. 
 Hamor often smiled involuntarily as he glanced down 
 upon this motionless human hump, and upon Douglas 
 
 patient, solemn, and silent before his easel. 
 Hamor s studio, completed, received the unqualified
 
 GUENN. 85 
 
 approval of his friends. No radical transformation 
 took place in it. He made no efforts to introduce into 
 his rustic quarters Japanese screens, tiger-skins, old 
 Venetian silks, Gobelin tapestries, pontifical robes, or 
 an} attribute of a luxurious Paris atelier. Garret and 
 ex-granary it remained, in unabashed simplichV^. But 
 the distracting loop-holes in the roof were suppressed, 
 and a broad skylight went in, a triumph of the car 
 penter s skill, and of Hamor s tact and persuasive pow 
 ers. The goodman who made it never knew himself 
 how the thing was done. The vastness of the scheme 
 and the rapidity of its execution were facts he was 
 unable to reconcile. 
 
 When he passed down the lane by the gi-anary, and 
 saw his masterpiece basking in the sunlight, he gazed 
 at it with emotion akin to religious awe. Who knew 
 better than he how much time a man needed for a job 
 like that? Had he not received a medal for being the 
 fastest driver of nails in the whole shipyard at Brest? 
 Well, then, could anybodj* tell him anything about rapid 
 work? But this window partook of the nature of a mir 
 acle. A vision of a little votive-window, hanging along 
 with the little votive legs and arms and ships at the 
 shrine of Saint Horve, haunted his excited fancy. But 
 the young man with the happy smile, who drove a few 
 nails himself rather cleverly, and handled a rule fairly 
 well, and took some of the measurements, and got on 
 so easily with the children, and was continually running 
 in and out with a gay word for everybody, what of 
 him? Might there not be, after all, something hereti 
 cal, if singularly attractive, about the window and its 
 associations? And little enough, if the truth were 
 known, had he thought of Saint Herve while making it ! 
 He had had no time indeed to think of anything but of
 
 86 GUENN. 
 
 the strange gars, who had come in as fresh as a May 
 breeze, and taken possession of his tools, his work 
 shop, and himself. The carpenter s religious theory 
 was simple. The complexity of this situation bewil 
 dered him. He concluded to return special thanks to 
 Saint Ilervo, and offer him a fine long taper, but to 
 omit the contemplated addition to the little arms and 
 legs. 
 
 It would be at best an innovation. But he nourished 
 his soul with pride in the skylight of mushroom growth, 
 and every morning made a triumphal tour down the 
 lane. His best hammer and chisel were alwaj s at Ha- 
 mor s service, his ladder reposed amicably on Ilamor s 
 floor. He delighted in doing odd jobs for him, and 
 could with difficult} be prevailed upon to accept his 
 modest dues. Ilamor had the carpenter in thrall. 
 
 It pleased Staunton and Douglas to make charactei - 
 istic jokes upon the subject, but they never fully 
 grasped the secret of Ilamor s success with the multi 
 tude. With the models, as with the workmen, it was 
 the same thing, Douglas complained. The} 7 all came 
 more willingly to Ilamor, and gave him better service. 
 One practical but ignored reason for this, was that his 
 French was attractive. Staunton used habitually more 
 correct and elegant French than he, "swell-dinner 
 French," his friends called it derisively ; but Ilamor s 
 unhesitating lingual affability was better adapted to the 
 fisher-folk. He enjoyed his popularity, and was as proud 
 of it as if it were an evidence of intellect or strength. 
 
 One day Douglas, moved to unwonted curiosity, 
 stalked up stairs and catechised him. 
 
 "I say, Hamor," he began, "I don t see but that 
 3 ou re a long-legged, awkward fellow, pretty much like 
 me are n t you ? "
 
 GUENN. 87 
 
 " Well, yes, I should say so," Hamor replied, 
 laughing a little, bus}- with an ebauche, and not 
 turning. 
 
 "I don t see anything extraordinary about you," 
 Douglas said, with the utmost gravity. 
 
 " Neither do I. What s the matter now, Douglas?" 
 
 " It is Jeanne," explained the slow Scotchman. " She 
 does n t pose as well as she used to. She is uneasy when 
 it is about time for her to come up to }*ou. She is inva 
 riably late when she comes down to me. I don t think 
 she likes to come down to me." 
 
 " Oh, I ll make that all right," Hamor said, turning 
 and looking at his friend with a pleasant smile. "I ll 
 speak to Jeanne about it." 
 
 "Yes, but why should you be able to make it all 
 right, an} r better than I? That s exactly what I want 
 to know." 
 
 Douglas seated himself very deliberately on some 
 piled-up sardine-boxes, and stared soberly at Hamor. 
 
 " Doesn t 3 T our red woman pose pretty well?" 
 
 " Like a block." 
 
 " She does look a little like a stepping-stone." 
 
 " But that isn t posing, you know. She has simply 
 to double herself up, and keep still until I tell her to 
 move." 
 
 "Now, Douglas, do j*ou know I never see those 
 tempting outlines without wanting to play leapfrog?" 
 
 "Oh, you think if I should play leapfrog with my 
 models it would increase my influence ? " 
 
 Hamor laughed. " Well, yes, mental leapfrog." 
 
 "I m not acquainted with the sport," Douglas re 
 turned dryly. " But I am in earnest, rather, about 
 Jeanne. She really ought to pose better." His tone 
 grew injured as he specified his grievances. " She
 
 88 GUENN. 
 
 ought to be light and airy, you know, with one hand 
 raised to the basket of clothes on her head, and just 
 stepping off, and turning and smiling and listening. 
 Well now, she does nothing of the sort. She holds her 
 waist as stiff as a ramrod, and listens -yes, she listens, 
 certainly, but in the wrong direction. She is always 
 listening to hear you whistle and sing, and waiting for 
 you to call her. The red woman does n t count. What 
 do you do to Jeanne and the others? That s what I 
 want to know." 
 
 Ilamor broke into a hearty laugh. " Douglas," he 
 said, "you are delicious ! " Then hesitating, still smil 
 ing: " I am sure I don t know what I do. I let them 
 feel at home. I give them the freedom of m}- room, 
 for one thing." 
 
 "Well, why should 3*011 not? There s nothing very 
 fragile up here," turning his eyes slowly from the rough 
 rafters to the broken stone window-seats of the great 
 bare garret. 
 
 " And I am kind to them, I suppose." 
 
 " I am kind, too," remarked Douglas with conviction. 
 " I am a very kind man." 
 
 "Yes, but confound it, since you insist, you lack 
 humor, don t you know?" 
 
 "What in the deuce has humor to do with my 
 models ? " 
 
 Hamor laughed again, and began filling in his 
 ebauchc with heavy strokes of his brush. "I mean 
 you take them too seriouslv." 
 
 " Well, painting is a serious thing to me." 
 
 " And to me? " Hamor said quietly, standing with his 
 back turned, his hand moving rapidby. 
 
 "Yes, I know," answered Douglas honestly; then 
 crossed his long legs and reflected.
 
 GUENN. 89 
 
 There was a prolonged pause, during which Staun- 
 ton came in with a wet picture, and deposited it 
 carefull} , face to the wall. 
 
 " See here, Staunton," Douglas began at once, " I 
 am asking Hamor why our models like him best, and 
 pose best for him?" 
 
 " Do they?" said Staunton softly. 
 
 "No doubt of it." 
 
 " Well then, I don t know why." 
 
 " What makes the lamb love Mary so? Why, 
 Mary loves the lamb, } - ou know, " Hamor suggested 
 lightly. 
 
 " Oh, come now, m}" dear fellow. That s all blague, 
 and you know it. You care as little for them as I do ; 
 which is obviousty nothing at all, except as they serve 
 my purpose." 
 
 Hamor whistled, and stepped back to study his 
 work. 
 
 "Now I was rather curious about this," Douglas 
 complained. 
 
 " If you wish my opinion," began Staunton. 
 
 " Oh, don t rouse false hopes. Whoever may knock, 
 your opinion is not at home." 
 
 "You are quite welcome to it, this time, my dear 
 Hamor," replied Staunton, laughing gently. "I think 
 you should have been a fashionable doctor. You have 
 an experimental tendency. For women, you would be 
 unsurpassed. That tender voice, sympathetic manner, 
 and coldly observant vision ! How the misunderstood 
 would throw themselves into your arms, weep on .your 
 shoulder, and confide to you that nobody loved them ! 
 A doctor or a curate. You would n t be a bad curate, 
 do you know?" 
 
 Hamor looked for a moment at his friend. " Upon
 
 90 GUENN. 
 
 my word, Staunton, I trust 3 T ou think me an honest 
 man." 
 
 "I think that you are the best draughtsman in 
 Plouvenec," Staunton said affably. 
 
 " C est deja beaucoup. It is better than honesty." 
 
 " Now, I believe you," rejoined Staunton, smiling. 
 
 Suddenly Hamor turned and faced the two men, a 
 flash from his inner consciousness illumining his whole 
 face. 
 
 "I d see them all drowned and damned before my 
 ej es," he exclaimed, "if it would help me paint as I 
 want to paint." His lips set sternly. 
 
 "Ah," Staunton whistled softly under his breath. 
 
 "And you call yourself kind?" remarked Douglas. 
 " Well, if this is humor, I think I 11 keep on taking 
 things seriousl} T ." Without another word he stalked 
 out of the studio and returned to his work. Presently 
 Staunton, with a friendly adieu, also disappeared. 
 
 Hamor, left alone, forgot the whole conversation, 
 even the existence of his friends, and lost himself in 
 his drawing. 
 
 He was a singularly happy worker, painting system 
 atically and steadily in his atelier and in the open air. 
 Jeanne and Victoria, and other regular!}* engaged models 
 of his friends, posed for him, and he began several pot- 
 boikrs, as he scornfully called the small, rapidly exe 
 cuted pictures which he prepared for the market, while 
 musing upon greater things. Deep in his heart, he 
 longed for Samson, Ajax, and the Madonna and Child. 
 Hamor was a man of moods, but a mood in which he 
 could not work, rarely mastered him. When he found 
 himself unfitted to approach one subject, he devoted 
 himself to another. If he felt unequal to depict the 
 glory of the sunset, he could concentrate his powers
 
 GUENN. 91 
 
 upon a pair of wooden shoes. In short, in his art, 
 when far from the lips that he loved, he made love to 
 the lips that were near. Jeanne knitting, Jeanne and 
 Victoria winding yarn, Victoria and Jeanne gossiping 
 in the sunshine down in the court, were in various 
 stages of completion ; while his sketch-book was rap 
 idly filling with boys and sailors in striking attitudes, 
 lovely bits and corners of landscapes, and genre pictures 
 of the daily life of the Plouvenec folk. 
 
 Victoria had long regular features, entirely devoid of 
 expression. The 3"oung men who painted chic were apt 
 to infuse into her stolid countenance whatever they de 
 sired ; and Victoria, idealized, was continually travel 
 ling off to Paris, suggesting vague longings her sleepy 
 heart had never known, or, in the art of the bonbon- 
 niere, simpering with the sentimental coquetry of the 
 3X>uug women whose glazed features embellish hand 
 kerchief-boxes, or, pure as a field-flower, a veritable 
 Breton Madonna. Jeanne was fresh and rosj , alwaj s 
 in demand, engaged months in advance. She was a 
 good and pretty girl, with little sentiment, and no 
 grace except the inevitable grace of extreme youth. 
 
 " I can t borrow my models all winter," Hamor said 
 one day impatiently. "Jeanne is commonplace, as a 
 constant study, and Victoria stands and walks like a 
 cow. In fact, she looks like a cow. If I ever paint her 
 again, I shall put horns above those placid bovine eyes, 
 and make her chewing her cud. Really, I must have the 
 Rodellec girl." 
 
 "Oh, you won t get her. Everybody has tried," 
 Staunton answered. 
 
 " I suppose she has her price," said Hamor carelessly. 
 
 He was sure that Guenn would eventually become his 
 special model. It was written. But although she was
 
 92 GUENN. 
 
 visible everywhere, bringing life and laughter in her 
 train, she was thus far as unapproachable as an en 
 throned queen. A queen, indeed, though encompassed 
 by guards and ceremonies, is a stable personage. One 
 knows, at least, where she is ; and even she yields to 
 the laws of etiquette, and respects a petition presented 
 in proper form. But Guenn Rodellec was as elusive as 
 running water, as mobile as a firefly. A seagull on the 
 bay knew as much etiquette as she, and proper forms 
 she would have laughed to scorn. On the common, 
 evenings, her clear voice led the girls chorus, that sang 
 light-o -love songs and church chants almost in one 
 breath. Swift, straight, and maidenly, she trod the 
 meadows and mossy ways, the village streets, and the 
 shores of the bay, or, her great basket poised on her 
 head, the shady chemin creux ; and always her young 
 lips and bold, honest eyes were smiling defiance at every 
 stranger. When the dusky fleet of fishing-boats came 
 home, Guenn held her own with jest and repartee, not 
 alwa3*s of the most delicate flavor, and, among the 
 noisy fish- wives and crafty bu} - ers, made shrewd bargains 
 for Monsieur Morot. 
 
 Late nights, on the extremity of the point, as the last 
 heavily laden boat plashed softly by, her light figure 
 stood poised on the farthest rock, her face set against 
 the wind, all the soft chestnut rings on her forehead 
 fluttering back, and her eager voice hailing the patron. 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "Jacques." 
 
 " How many?" 
 
 " Twenty thousand." 
 
 " Morot offers fifteen francs." 
 
 " Not such a fool ! " 
 
 " Fool if you don t ! They re going at fourteen."
 
 GUENN. 93 
 
 Boat glides on. The girl runs along the rocks. 
 
 " Well, patron, do you sell to Morot?" 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " Guenn Rodellec." 
 
 "Is it the truth that you say? " 
 
 " When did I ever lie? You are late, old fellow ; but 
 the good Morot will take your fish at fifteen francs the 
 thousand. Done?" 
 
 " Done, since it is you, Guenn Rodellec." And when 
 the boat nears the quay the buyers shout in vain. 
 
 Laughing on the dunes with Jeanne and Nannie, 
 working with the older women in the usine, fearless, 
 boyish, sharp as any gamin forced to live by his wits, 
 with a rude honest} that did not even recognize tempta 
 tion, she threw her whole soul into the occupation of the 
 moment, and was, whatever she did, a power in the 
 plaee, a distinct personality. Even Plouvenec, upon 
 occasion, took exception to her manners, her pride, her 
 laughing insolence ; but wild as she was, running loose 
 among rough men at all hours of the da} and night, her 
 purity was as stainless as the winter snows on the 
 summits of the Montagues Noires. 
 
 Hamor saw her everywhere, brilliant, buoyant, a ring 
 leader of mischief. Meeting him she never shunned his 
 gaze, but gave him one heart} scowl of recognition and 
 hostility, then pointedly got out of his way. She looked 
 so handsome with the carnation color mounting to her 
 passionate little face, her blue eyes darkening, and her 
 lips curving scornfully, that Hamor would not have had 
 it otherwise. But he began to ask himself how long 
 these preliminaries must last. If he should force cir 
 cumstances, he would endanger his plans. He could 
 not knock at her door, as honest Douglas had done, and 
 ingenuously request her to pose for him. He could by
 
 94 GUENN. 
 
 no means risk the public refusal accompanied by con 
 tumely, which she would assuredly bestow upon him, 
 should he accost her, surrounded by her satellites. 
 
 "I will leave it to time and chance," he thought. 
 "My day will come. The more indifferent and cau 
 tious my approach, the more surely I snare my wild- 
 bird." In the mean time he took pains to meet her 
 often, and always looked at her gravely and kindly, 
 without speaking. In her presence he liked to discuss 
 some matter of the studio with Jeanne, who was proud 
 of her association with him, and chattered of him 
 continually. 
 
 "Ah, how kind he is, this Monsieur Hamor!" she 
 said one day, rapturousby ; " and how stupid you are not 
 to come and pose. Think, Guenn, two new kerchiefs 
 from Quimper, and a silver-and-blue jacket ! " 
 " Hags !" remarked Guenn superb h". 
 " And bonbons ! Ah, what good bonbons ! " 
 "Munch them," said her laconic companion. 
 " And Monsieur Hamor is so gentil and so gay. He 
 smiles and whistles, and sings like a lark ! Ah, but it 
 is lively up there ; " and Jeanne gave a little sigh, re 
 membering the intervals of solemnity with Monsieur 
 Douglas down below. " If you would come and pose 
 for Monsieur Hamor, Guenn, he would give }-ou a new 
 kerchief," she said disinterestedly, " or lace for a coiffe, 
 or even a gown who knows ? When one is so amia 
 ble as Monsieur Ilamor, one is capable de tout ! " 
 
 " Tu m embetes, Jeanne," Guenn broke out passion 
 ately, " with j our Monsieur Ilamor here, and Monsieur 
 Hamor there, and Monsieur Ilamor everywhere ! What 
 is he to me, with his head as high as the phare, and his 
 eyes seeing eveiything on land and sea, along the 
 sands and the dunes and far out on the bay, and smi-
 
 GUENN. 95 
 
 ling, smiling to himself as if he could read the thoughts 
 of your heart, and knew more than the angels ! " 
 
 " Tiens but I thought you never looked at him," 
 said Jeanne innocently. 
 
 "Look at him? Not I, indeed! And why should I 
 look at him? Do I look at the phare, and do I not 
 know where it shines? There are things one sees with 
 one s eyes shut, m} stupid little Jeanne. The great 
 oak on the Beuzec road can I help seeing that, even 
 if I look towards Trevignan ? And the cliff on the third 
 beach, where poor Yvonne threw herself down, and they 
 found her cold and dead do I not see that, and the 
 sun on the waves below, where it shines and hurts your 
 eyes? That is how he smiles. That is how I see him. 
 I see him always, wherever I go, where he never 
 was, in the usine, in the long row of women, when 
 I go home through the fields, alone tinder the stars, by 
 the dolmen where it is so still, by the great menhir, 
 in the woods, on the beach, and when I take off 
 my coiffe and let down my hair, and when I say my 
 prayers, and when I close my eyes, and when I sleep, 
 always and everywhere, with his high head and his 
 eyes oh, his eyes ! And smiling, smiling, smiling ! " 
 
 " Mon clieu, but how } - ou hate him, Guenn ! " 
 
 " Ah yes, I hate him well." 
 
 " It is a pit} ," said little Jeanne simply ; " he is so 
 kind. And, Guenn, he is not so tall as 3*011 think. 
 Monsieur Douglas is taller. And as for the phare and 
 the Beuzec oak, well, you are a funn} r girl ! " 
 
 " It s all the same. Tall or short, I hate him. He s 
 a man." 
 
 "Oh no, Guenn, he is not a man; he is an artist. 
 It is quite a different thing," Jeanne said gravely. 
 
 They may speak soft, but they are men all the
 
 96 GUENN. 
 
 same. And men are all alike, except monsieur le 
 recteur des Lanm ons. Men get drunk, and lie, and 
 beat their wives, and catch a few fish, and boast of it, 
 and get drunk again. I hate them. There s only one 
 man in the world who is n t like that, and he is the rec 
 teur of the Lannions. He is an angel." 
 
 " O Guenn, O Guenn, as if Monsieur Hamor would 
 beat his wife, unless, indeed, she was a very bad one, 
 like Mother Nives : and a man would have to beat her, 
 or she would beat him ; and he has n t any wife ; he is 
 only a jeune homme, and if he had one, it would n t 
 be a bad old woman ; so, you see, he would n t beat 
 her ! " cried Jeanne in triumphant incoherence. 
 
 Guenn shrugged her shoulders and made a disdainful 
 face. 
 
 "Or Monsieur Douglas, either, though he is as sol 
 emn as a stone image in the graveyard. Or Monsieur 
 Staunton, even if he does act as if his model was a bit of 
 the shore or a clump of heather ; and it s a wonder to 
 me that he looks at us enough to paint us, for he never 
 seems to see us at all. But, Guenn, if 3 ou would come 
 and pose, you would understand. You are cleverer 
 than the rest of us, 3-011 know. It would n t take 3*011 
 long to find them out : onl\ r , 3*011 don t come, and so 
 you never understand that messieurs les artistes are 
 different," Jeanne concluded with a somewhat troubled 
 look. 
 
 "Little fool that 3*ou are!" remarked Guenn, with, 
 however, nothing offensive in her tone or expression. 
 In Plouvenec there were in common use so man3 r terms 
 stronger than fool, that this often meant only affection 
 and endearment. 
 
 "Well, I do wish 3*011 d come with me, and that s 
 the truth. Why are 3*011 alwa3*s so cross when I tell
 
 GUENN. 97 
 
 }-ou about the atelier? You would like it yourself. I 
 don t see win" }-ou grow so cross. Then the way you 
 talk about men ! Isn t Alain a man? Don t you like 
 Alain?" 
 
 "Yes," said Guenn, smiling frankly, "of course I 
 like Alain. I like to dance with Alain. Ma foi, how 
 we danced at the Beuzec Pardon ! " And she hummed 
 the gavotte. 
 
 Once I heard you say that you were glorieuse 
 of our Plouvenec sailors, that you wished you were a 
 sailor in a storm," Jeanne went on reproachfully. 
 
 "But a sailor in a storm at sea, and a sailor drunk 
 on shore ah, Jeanne! Then, I said it last week, 
 and 3 esterday is not to-day." Guenn laughed per 
 versely. "To-day I hate all men except three," 
 counting on her fingers: " Thymert, because he is 
 an angel ; Monsieur Louis, because he is good to 
 Tlvymert; Alain, because he dances the gavotte like 
 the wind, like the southwest wind ! " and she hummed 
 and danced in gay remembrance, her hands on her 
 hips, smiling brightly. 
 
 " And I tell you, Guenn, that Monsieur Hamor is so 
 amiable that " Guenn put her hands over her ears, 
 singing as loud as she could, 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie est amere," 
 
 thereb} T shutting out the rest of Jeanne s unwelcome 
 remark, with the exception of certain disjointed words 
 like kerchiefs coiffe bonbons, which plainly told the 
 oft-repeated story. 
 
 Guenn turned fiercely. 
 
 " Tu m ennuies, I tell you ! Will you never stop?" 
 She looked angrily at Jeanne, who in her turn was some 
 what sullen. Then Guenn laughed. "Little fool. 
 
 7
 
 98 GUENN. 
 
 How stupid j ou are ! But I like you all the same. 
 Voyons," she began impressively, "let us be reason 
 able. I am tired of your Monsieur Hamor, don t 
 you see, my little Jeanne? He wearies me. Can t 
 you understand ? " drooping her eyelids like a lan 
 guid marquise. "He is of as much importance as" 
 she paused to find an object sufficiently mean to 
 express Monsieur Hamor s insignificance, suddenly 
 threw her right foot surprisingly far forward, point 
 ing at it with a disdainful finger " as my old sabots ! 
 There, my little Jeanne ! " With a fine air of indiffer 
 ence she folded her arms across her breast, and stood 
 smiling at her friend. 
 
 This was unanswerable. Jeanne had a confused im 
 pression that Guenn had been saying very strange 
 things, but Guenn always said strange things ; and as 
 for trying to persuade her when she did not choose to 
 be persuaded, well, one might as well ask the digue 
 to dance a gavotte. Jeanne did not pretend to be very 
 clever, but she knew that when Guenn Rodellec hated 
 anybody, as she hated this amiable Monsieur Hamor, 
 enough had been said for one day. There was danger in 
 pursuing a subject which Guenn had closed in this lofty 
 manner. Smiling superbly, the scorned sabot em 
 blem of baseness still extended as far as she could 
 reach, Guenn calmty waited until Jeanne should relapse 
 into her usual state of blind loyalty, from which only the 
 influence of the hated stranger could ever have led this 
 sweet-tempered and willing subject. Jeanne raised her 
 eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders, dropped both arms, 
 and said nothing. Guenn accepted the pantomime of 
 submission. 
 
 She was masterful, but generous. " Come," she said 
 graciously, " let us go down to the wall with the others.
 
 GUENN. 
 
 99 
 
 Let us amuse ourselves. There s Mother Nives in no 
 end of a temper, and Victoria s got a new coiffe." 
 
 " What strong eyes you have," said her vassal 
 admiringlj-. 
 
 " Yes, thanks to the bon dieu," was Guenn s pious 
 and satisfied rejoinder ; " the}* are very good eyes to see 
 with. Let us race to the wall. Jeanne, wait. Start 
 fair one, two, three!"
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PASSEUR ! " called Hamor, standing by the ferry- 
 wa} , where no boat appeared. "Passeur!" he 
 
 cried again impatiently, looking up and down the shore. 
 The water plashed against the steps hewn in the solid 
 rock. Opposite, by the low walls and towers on the 
 island, pale-blue nets, light as air, stirred in the breeze. 
 Hamor put down with some emphasis his easel, camp- 
 stool, palette, and unsatisfactory sketch, and shouted 
 with the whole force of his excellent lungs, " Passeur ! " 
 From a curve in the shore just below, a broad scow came 
 slowly into view, but no gray-bearded ferryman stood in 
 the stern. A girl with a white coiffe, a red kerchief, a 
 lightly swaying figure, brought the boat well up to the 
 steps, and waited sullenly while Hamor collected his 
 belongings and stepped in. 
 
 "Ah, mon dicu, que la vie est " 
 
 What life was, in her opinion, she had not deigned to 
 communicate. The moment she saw Hamor she stopped 
 short in her gay song.
 
 GUENN. 101 
 
 " Guenn Rodellec, by all that s lucky I Here s my 
 chance ! " 
 
 He accosted her civilly enough but indifferent!} , seat 
 ing himself, and examining his sketch with an absorbed 
 air. Now there was nothing whatever of interest to 
 him in that sketch. He had fully made up his mind 
 about it, and in all probability would paint over it the 
 next day. Like Sir Joshua Reynolds, he could often 
 say, selling a painting: "There are six pictures on 
 that canvas, some better, some worse than the one you 
 see." 
 
 He had beep working five hours, studying an effect 
 of sand and sterile grass, which he wished to produce 
 in a large composition. His sketch, in itself, he consid 
 ered a failure, but as a study it was useful. He had 
 learned something to avoid. Hamor was tired, and not 
 in his most agreeable mood. The boy who should have 
 carried his effects had disappointed him. His sketch 
 was unsatisfactor} , and sand and sun had made his 
 e} - es ache. Waiting for the passeur had also not had a 
 soothing influence. But seeing Guenn Rodellec tete-a- 
 tete with him, sculling his boat, he forgot all his vexa 
 tions, and gloried in his good fortune. 
 
 Guenn s sole response to his greeting was a stare 
 and a scowl. Hamor continued to regard his sketch 
 assiduously. 
 
 "Where s the passeur?" he at length demanded 
 abruptly, as if not wholly content with the present 
 arrangement. 
 
 " Drunk," was the laconic answer. 
 
 " What, drunker?" said Hamor, with a smile. 
 
 No reply. 
 
 " But he s a very good fellow, the old passeur." 
 
 Still utter silence. Evidently light conversation was
 
 102 GUENN. 
 
 not acceptable to his companion. She sculled easily, 
 with a practised hand. Her cheeks glowed with a fresh- 
 rose brightness. Her eyes were full of light and life. 
 Dark veins around them cast a deep violet shade, and 
 made them look even larger than they were. Her beau 
 tiful, defiant face, her rich color, and every lovely line 
 of her figure in its free motions, gave Hamor exquisite 
 pleasure. He would have liked nothing better than to 
 have this charming angry little person continue for 
 hours to scull him across and up and down those pleas 
 ant waters, scowling and flushing and throwing herself 
 into the most bewitching poses. But there rose the 
 island ramparts, and directly her forced voj age would 
 be over. He had already lost much time. She was 
 working fast, the pauses had been long, and as }"et he 
 had made no headway. 
 
 "Did they come for 3-011 because the passeur could 
 not row?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you are always ready to do a stupid man s 
 work for him, when he can t do it himself ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Hamor did not venture to smile in the presence of so 
 much savage dignity. Truly, she was a most difficult 
 person to aborder. When she spoke, she lifted her eyes 
 and looked straight into his ; then ignored his presence 
 completely. Thus far he had succeeded in extracting 
 three monosyllables from her compressed lips. This 
 would never do. 
 
 " Guenn," he said very gently. 
 
 She lifted her eyes with a startled look. Until to-da}^ 
 he had never actually spoken to her since the few words 
 on the beach that first evening. Now his tone was sug 
 gestive of old acquaintance, of perfect understanding.
 
 GUENN. 103 
 
 No one in the world had ever said Guenn like that. He 
 was smiling, too, the smile she knew so well. 
 
 "Guenn," he repeated, "let us be sensible. Why 
 
 should you and I quarrel? You know I want you to 
 
 pose for me. Will you not come, Guenn ? I will give 
 
 3 ou fifty francs a month, and Jeanne has already told 
 
 you I don t make it too hard work." 
 
 " No ! " she cried vehemently, turning her back upon 
 him. 
 
 " And wiry not? " he continued in the same kind tone. 
 
 " Because I won t." 
 
 "Ah! That s a very good reason. It s settled 
 then, I suppose." After a moment: " But, in spite of 
 your insurmountable objections to coming 3-ourself, 
 would 3 ou mind asking your little brother to come and 
 see me some time ? " 
 
 "What do you want of my Nannie?" The girl 
 wheeled, and looked at him angrily. 
 
 "I don t know 3 et," Hamor said with his pleasant 
 intonation, as if unconscious of her suspicion and wrath. 
 " Possibly not much of anything. I onby thought I d 
 like him to come in. He seems to be a nice bo3 T . I 
 like children. The3 r like me usualby." 
 
 Guenn scanned him sharpby. He was looking be3<ond 
 her, at the walls and the boats which the3 r were approach 
 ing, leaning back easiby, a harmless, amiable smile on 
 his handsome face. 
 
 "Nannie is a ver3 T nice boy," the 3"oung girl said, 
 with a mixture of timidit3 and audacit3\ 
 
 " So I have thought." 
 
 " He knows more than other bo3 S," alwa3*s watch 
 ing Hamor, who bore the scrutiny unmoved, steadiby 
 wearing the same look of smiling unconscious benevo 
 lence, "he knows things beforehand."
 
 104 GUENN. 
 
 "Ah," murmured Ilamor appreciatively. 
 
 Guenn nodded gravely, and seemed lost in contem 
 plation of her brother s genius. " If he won t come, he 
 won t," she announced at length. 
 
 Hamor was on the point of saying, " That seems to 
 be a family trait ; " but he feared to rouse the sleeping 
 lion, and prudently replied: "I should be sorry if he 
 wouldn t come. I have always hoped that he would." 
 
 Guenn looked at him with grave comprehension. 
 
 "Would he be afraid to come, do you think?" 
 Ilamor asked. 
 
 Guenn leaned on her great oar and stared at him with 
 her charming blue eyes. "Afraid? Nannie Rodellec 
 afraid ? " 
 
 She threw back her head, and laughed the most deli 
 cious laugh Hamor had ever heard. "Nannie afraid? 
 O mon dieu ! O mon dieu ! Again came her free 
 laughter, wild, sweet, irresistible. 
 
 So few people children excepted laugh well when 
 the}" laugh heartily. A suggestion of latent coarseness 
 or latent weakness seems to spring from parted lips, like 
 the frog from the girl s mouth in the fairy-tale. Hamor 
 had been so ungallant as to privately make this observa 
 tion in the presence of charming women. " Why, this 
 is a fine laugh," he thought, and listened critically as to 
 an upper (7, " a perfectly fine laugh." It was pure 
 mirth and pure music. It gave him a positive pleasure. 
 He found himself laughing with her. 
 
 " Well, are }-ou laughing at me, Guenn?" he said in 
 dulgently. He had reason to repent of his fatuity. Her 
 face sobered instantly, as her thoughts reverted from 
 Nannie to the painter. Something was wrong. Had he 
 seemed too intimate ? Was it because he had laughed 
 too?
 
 GUENN. 105 
 
 "No," she answered, with the familiar scowl, "I 
 don t know you." 
 
 " And in Plouvenec does one have to know a person 
 before one laughs at him ? Is that Breton manners ? I 
 must say I think it s very good manners," he remarked 
 quite inoffensively. 
 
 The color flamed up in her face, and her voice vibrated 
 with anger. 
 
 "It s manners in Bretagne to mind your own busi 
 ness, and not to go round making fun of folks that do 
 the best they can to keep out of }*our way." With a 
 splendid movement she swung the boat against the 
 smooth, worn rocks, and stood waiting for Hamor to 
 step out. 
 
 lie seated himself still more comfortably, and watched 
 her closely. No one was in their neighborhood except 
 a small and nearly bare boy, who frantically offered to 
 dive for a sou, or perform an} other natatory feat which 
 monsieur would find agreeable. " Swim across to the 
 other shore, and from there down to the great ship, 
 and I 11 give you ten sous. See, I will put it here," and 
 he deposited fifty centimes in a crevice of the rock. 
 " And mind it is fine swimming that I want, not fast 
 swimming. You can stop and float by the way, if you 
 like. Allez ! " Splash went the bo} . 
 
 " She s in my clutches now fast enough," he reflected 
 cruelly. " She can t leave the boat, and she can t very 
 well put me out." He sat still until she turned her 
 head impatiently and looked at him over her shoulder. 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 "Voyons, Guenn," he said gravel}*. "This is the 
 second time that you have made that not too amiable 
 remark to me." 
 
 " And what is it to you whether I am amiable or
 
 106 GUENN. 
 
 not? " she demanded, facing him, since the encounter 
 was unavoidable, with a desperate courage. " Amiable ? 
 What is amiable? And are 3 ou my confessor? Who 
 are you, any wa} - ?" she said violently. " To me, 3*011 
 are nothing and nobody ! " A gallant charge, thought 
 Hamor. 
 
 " I cannot deny that there is a certain justice in 
 what you say, Guenn," he began with much gentleness. 
 " You are at home. I am the intruder. You ask me 
 who I am. I am only a painter, with no interest be} ond 
 my art. I go wherever it leads me. I do whatever it 
 bids me. I care for nothing else. I may be personally 
 disagreeable to 3"ou. As you sa}*, that is 3 our affair. 
 Certainly I claim no right to criticise your manners or 
 your temper. But on the other hand, how have I ever 
 injured you? Tell me, Guenn, what have I done? 
 Have I sought 3-011, followed you, troubled 3 r ou b3" word 
 or look? Have I ever spoken to 3 r ou, except that first 
 time and to da\- ? And was it m3 r fault that the women 
 were teasing 3*ou on the beach ? Is it my fault that I 
 have 63-68, and that I saw 3 our beautiful hair? Is it 
 my fault that the passeur is drunk? Come, come, 
 Guenn, be sage. Songez done. Wli3 T is not Jeanne 
 here to-day? Why is it you? Surehy, I am not 
 responsible." 
 
 " Wiry is it me?" repeated Guenn slowly. 
 
 " Now this is an intelligent girl," thought Hamor. 
 " You can appeal to her sense and frankness. She s a 
 hard little thing, but she s fond of her brother. That s 
 where she s vulnerable. I have never, to m3 T knowledge, 
 given nrvselfso much trouble for airy model. And as 
 for talking reason to them bah ! the3 T are too betes. 
 But this child is made of different material." 
 
 He had taken his sketch-book from his pocket.
 
 GUENN. 107 
 
 Guenn stood, slowly rocking the boat. lie was trying 
 to catch the pretty swaying motion of her waist and 
 hips. " What a creature ! All grace and fire ! I will 
 paint her so, life-size, in this old scow, leaning on 
 the oar larger than herself; the granite walls, one of 
 these fishing-boats, the cloud} nets along the masts, 
 the steps cut in the rock, slimy and wet ; the girl 
 looking straight before her into your eyes." 
 
 Hamor had an unusually agreeable voice, which often 
 seemed to be curiously independent of his mental con 
 dition. It was cordial and winning, when his soul was 
 weary and indifferent. It possessed tender modula 
 tions, of which it made liberal use to all women, the 
 worth} and the unworthy, the just and the unjust. He 
 gave no heed to the final consequences of tones, which 
 another man might use once in a lifetime, and to one 
 only. 
 
 " Guenn," he said, slipping his book into his pocket, 
 having half caught the pose he liked, and filled in his 
 cabalistic scratches for walls, drooping foliage, masts, 
 nets, and atmosphere, "have you nothing to say to 
 me ? I am sure you have courage enough to say any 
 thing. Tell me honestly, what have I done ? Why are 
 you angry?" 
 
 " I wish you would go away to the end of the world 
 and never come back again, and that s what I have to 
 say to you." Her voice trembled with passion. 
 
 " Well, I shall some time," he said consoling!} . 
 
 " I wish you would go now." 
 
 "Why, Guenn?" 
 
 She flung her arms up with a little desperate move 
 ment and let them fall. 
 
 "Because they all like you," she cried. "Jeanne 
 likes you. Monsieur Morot likes you. Mother Quaper
 
 108 GUENN. 
 
 likes 3-011. Madame at the Voyageurs, and the carpen 
 ter, and the locksmith, and the sailors 
 
 "And the goodly fellowship of the prophets and the 
 noble army of martyrs," Hamor murmured irreverently 
 in English, to complete the roll-call. 
 
 " What is it?" she asked suspiciously. 
 
 "Oh, nothing, only you gratif} me. I was not 
 aware of my popularity. Is there anybody else?" 
 
 " Yes, there is," she said sullenly, hesitating. 
 
 " What possesses the girl? Can it be a general ob 
 jection to hearing Aristides called the Just? This is 
 really amusing." 
 
 "Well?" he said gently. 
 
 "Monsieur le recteur des Lannions, and my Nan 
 nie, m}* Nannie," she repeated with a strange distress 
 in her voice and e} es. 
 
 "Now I am glad to know that," Hamor returned 
 cordially. I know the cure. I admire him immense!}*. 
 I consider him an extraordinar} man. And your 
 brother, as I have alreacty said," he added gravely, 
 "is, I imagine, an extraordinary boy. And how does 
 he happen to know me, your Nannie? " 
 
 "Oh, he knows }*ou," she muttered; "he knows 
 eveiybody. He knows everything." 
 
 Tant mieux. And so all these good people like me ? " 
 
 "That s what I said." She moved the great oar 
 uneasiby to and fro and looked down into the water with 
 troubled eyes. 
 
 "Do you like them?" 
 
 " Yes. They are my people. I love my people," she 
 answered very gently. 
 
 Hamor thought this was charmingly said. 
 
 Now, shall I tell you who does not like me ? Old 
 Mother Nives "
 
 GUENN. 109 
 
 Guenn looked interested and nodded assent. 
 
 " And your father and you." 
 
 She started violently, giving him a glance of angry 
 reproach. Guenn never mentioned her father s name. 
 No one knew how she felt towards him. 
 
 Hamor went on unconsciously, in the kindest voice : 
 "You d better come over to the other side, Guenn. 
 The company, in the first place, is more suited to you. 
 Then there is another reason. I like you. I shall 
 al\va} s like } ou. It is n t exactly fair to be so severe 
 with me. Think about it. will you not?" he said, 
 laughing a little. He rose and stood near her. If it 
 had been Jeanne, and Jeanne was a good little girl, he 
 would have patted her shoulder. But at that moment 
 he no more presumed to lay a familiar finger on Guenn 
 Rodellec than on the grandest grande dame of his ac 
 quaintance. In her patched skirts and wooden shoes, 
 her small coarse hands nervouslj working the ferr}*- 
 man s heavy oar, her heart fluttering like a frightened 
 bird s, her eyes dilating as she raised them to his hand 
 some face, Guenn was unapproachable. 
 
 " How near he is ! How tall he is ! How he smiles 
 and smiles ! " thought the girl. She turned her head 
 desperately. There was no escape. 
 
 " Will you go?" she said harshly. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I am going now." He dropped the pennies 
 for the passeur into her hand. " I must go, in fact, if 
 I hope to escape before Leander comes back. I see he 
 is pointing this way. He 11 shake himself like a New 
 foundland dog, and he 11 want some more sous. I 
 have n t any more, Guenn." 
 
 " That boy s name is Kadoc," Guenn said gloomily. 
 
 Hamor smiled at her as if he loved her, she was so 
 pretty. He laid his hands on the oar. They were
 
 110 GUENN. 
 
 long, well-shaped hands with narrow nails. Guenn s 
 nails were stubbed and broken and gray. She was too 
 proud and too simple to withdraw her hands, but she 
 saw the difference. "Wild little Breton fisher-girl as she 
 was, she was yet a woman. Never in her life before 
 had she been ashamed or even aware of any deficiency 
 in her toilette. Now, as she looked, she was uncom 
 fortable. 
 
 Hamor for his part was thinking: "Well, it s all 
 a matter of habit. The ugliest woman can take care of 
 her hands, and a fool can wield a nail-brush. But who 
 can teach a girl to stand as this girl stands to look as 
 she does ? " 
 
 "It is very heav}*," he said; "I wonder that you 
 can manage it, you are so small and light." 
 
 " I prefer to be small," she returned haughtily, as if 
 her size were a thing she had personally arranged with 
 the powers of nature. " Big women are ugly." 
 
 " The} 7 are, sometimes," Hamor said gravely. 
 
 She was looking steadily down on the four hands, 
 side by side on the great oar. 
 
 Still he did not go. Still she felt him near. It 
 seemed to her no one had ever been so near her. 
 
 " Good-by, Guenn. Don t forget to ask Nannie to 
 come to m} studio. You will come too, perhaps ? " 
 
 " No, I won t ! " she exclaimed hotly. 
 
 "By the way, why do you suppose I want you to 
 pose for me ? " 
 
 Guenn had the courage of her convictions. 
 
 " Because I am pretty," she answered. 
 
 " Exactly," Hamor returned rather meekty. "I was 
 not aware that 3*011 knew it." 
 
 " Why should I not?" the girl rejoined indifferently. 
 "Everybody says I am the prettiest girl in Plouvenec."
 
 GUENN. Ill 
 
 " And you think so yourself ?" He could not resist 
 investigating this new phase of maidenl} r unconscious 
 ness. For unconscious she seemed, in spite of her words. 
 
 "Well, yes " and Guenn honestly considered the 
 subject. " Anna ic was the prettiest, but she s gone off." 
 
 "And what made Annaic go off?" asked Hamor 
 sympathetically, somewhat in doubt as to whether the 
 person in question had emigrated to America, or simply 
 faded in comeliness. 
 
 " Children," said Guenn bluntly. 
 
 " Ah ! " Hamor was extremely amused. 
 
 " Children," resumed Guenn with a philosophical air, 
 " make you go off as soon as anything. Still some 
 people are born to be pretty, and pretty they will be 
 whatever happens. Annaic will come up again," 
 she smiled with evident satisfaction, showing all her 
 square white little teeth, " Oh yes, surely ! " 
 
 Hamor was well pleased with his interview. The 
 girl had her prejudices still, no doubt. But she had 
 certainly grown more accustomed to him. She had 
 volunteered bits of information. She had not hesitated 
 to express her opinions. She had stood near him all 
 this time, both swinging the same oar. He must be 
 content. 
 
 "Guenn," he said in the tone that made her feel 
 so strangely, I must really go now. Leander Kadoc 
 is almost here." 
 
 He observed that she was of an enthusiastic nature 
 and had lost herself in the subject of Annaic s charms. 
 Now she was stud}*ing his hands curiously. 
 
 " You don t like me 3*et?" 
 
 Ah, how near he was with his beautiful smiling face ! 
 She longed to scream or run away. When he said 
 Guenn, like that, she had no more strength.
 
 112 GUENN. 
 
 "I hate you!" 
 
 " Still? Never mind. Some day, when you pose 
 for me you will like me very much. You will pose so 
 uncommonly well, Guenn." 
 
 He almost laid his firm long hand on hers, but this 
 seemed to him, upon the whole, unwise. He slowly 
 gathered together his belongings. When he painted 
 her he must be careful of that violet tone under her 
 eyes. Peach-black might do. 
 
 " Good-by, Guenn." He walked up the rocky way 
 a few steps, then turned and nodded to her kindly as 
 if there were a perfect understanding between them. 
 She was looking back. 
 
 "Passeur" came faintly from the opposite shore. 
 A couple of impatient artists waited long, while Guenn 
 sculled wearily across. 
 
 There were hot tears in her eyes, and a strange 
 heaviness on her heart. Wherever she looked, she 
 saw his face. " Guenn ! " said the caressing voice. 
 
 She turned her head involuntarily. Alread}^ a long 
 stretch of water lay between her and the shore. She 
 saw only the slimy steps of the ferry-way, the boats on 
 either side with the slowly waving nets, the heavy walls 
 behind the narrow gateway opening upon the one 
 street that led across the island between the high old 
 houses. He was gone. He had reached the other 
 gateway and the drawbridge perhaps. He was smil 
 ing at the children playing games on the common. If 
 she need not see his smile ! If she need not hear his 
 voice! "Guenn!" it murmured with its lingering 
 tone. 
 
 She stamped her foot, and sculled with all her 
 strength. " I hate him ! " she said, brushing the tears 
 roughly from her eyes.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EANWHILE Hamor had by 
 no means forgotten the cure 
 of the Lannions. While 
 utilizing the baser material 
 that lay near him, the car 
 penter, the tired little wo 
 man in the window, and 
 the various models who clat 
 tered up and down the stair 
 way between him and his 
 friends, as he said, like 
 Jacob s angels in sabots, his fancy saw a great 
 picture growing under his eager hand, and Thymert s 
 remarkable presence inspiring his noblest effort. He 
 had embodied his idea in half a dozen ebauches, 
 and his restless imagination had thrown the uncon 
 scious priest into a score of striking compositions, 
 none of which even in embrj-o satisfied him. "I 
 must study the man," he thought, " live with him, have 
 him for my daily bread. If I could paint him as he 
 looked that night in the crowd of roughs, strong and 
 imperious, with the lantern-light shining on him, but 
 that does not paint itself easily." 
 
 In his secret soul, he felt it to be an injustice that 
 the world was not chartered outright to the guild of
 
 114 GUENN. 
 
 painters. Why need artists experience delay or em 
 barrassment in the mere assembling of their animate 
 or inanimate tools? Now if he could, without more 
 ado, kidnap Guenn Rodellec and command Thymert to 
 present himself ? He would have them both in time. 
 He had discovered them. They belonged to him. It 
 was his immovable intention to perpetuate them on 
 canvas. But he objected to the slow and cautious 
 approach which he nevertheless recognized as an imper 
 ative condition of success. However, amiability would 
 be apt to win, and Hamor knew that he was nothing if 
 not amiable. He undertook, then, to pay his promised 
 visit to the Lannions. Late one Saturday night, he 
 suggested it to his friends. Staunton and Douglas 
 agreed to accompany him. They would start earby, 
 they said, and make a day of it. ; 
 
 It was, in fact, very early the next morning as the 
 two young men stood by the wet parapet, waiting for 
 Hamor. The mists had not yet lifted, and the quay 
 and boats and atmosphere seemed fairly dripping with 
 moisture. A few sailors hung about, sleep still linger 
 ing in their heavy limbs. Through the fog the masts 
 looked like a spectral forest. 
 
 Hamor was a person who frequently allowed his 
 friends to wait for him, and when their patience was 
 nearly exhausted, he would finally appear in an imper 
 turbable good-humor which incensed them more deeply. 
 He had so many kind things to say to people to whom 
 he was utterly indifferent ; he stopped so often on the 
 way, to give a caress to a child, and a glance that was 
 no less a caress to its mother, or to make a remark full 
 of bonhommie and grace to the most sullen old rascal 
 on the village streets, that his friends had occasion to 
 regret his exceeding popularity.
 
 GUENN. 115 
 
 This morning, after telling Staunton and Douglas 
 that he would be along directly, he had run over to his 
 studio for his sketch-book. The tired little woman 
 had descended from her window, and as he came through 
 the great arch, she stood by the stairway leading up 
 to her habitation, a modest picture of appealing femine- 
 ity, wrapped in an old green shawl. He was not the 
 man to refuse her the comfort of a morning chat. The 
 conversation on her part grew historical and confidingly 
 genealogical. It took root in Quimper and spread 
 its branches liberally over other towns. Hamor listen 
 ing to her, bis kind face bent down slightly, speaking 
 now and then in his gentlest tone, was technically 
 observant of the sudden resurrection of youth in her 
 faded cheeks and dull eyes. This degree of juvenility 
 might be expressed with rose madder, he decided. 
 
 Meanwhile Staunton and Douglas paced up and down 
 the qua} , from the common to the digue, from the 
 digue to the common, their coats snugly buttoned 
 across their chests, their collars turned up to their ears, 
 their hands in their trousers pockets. Perhaps the 
 October air on the pleasant Breton coast had not the 
 bitter chill which these precautions seemed to imply ; 
 but, when we make unnecessary sacrifices for our friends, 
 we like our friends to know it. Douglas wore knicker 
 bockers and a blouse with admirable gravity. Other 
 men in this juvenile costume look as if they had as 
 sumed it simply for their temporary convenience. 
 But Douglas s long thin legs were humorously childlike, 
 and his whole figure was suggestive of a bab} T -giant, or 
 of a being capable of immeasurable elongation, if 
 cleverl} pulled out. 
 
 The young men were extremely taciturn. After the 
 twentieth silent round, Staunton, with somewhat less
 
 116 GUENN. 
 
 than his usual affability, remarked : " "Well, I like this ! " 
 To which Douglas responded nothing. 
 
 After the twenty-fifth round, Staunton said: ""We 
 might get a boat eh?" To which Douglas replied 
 doubtfully: " H m." 
 
 After the thirtieth round, Staunton announced: "I 
 sa} , Douglas, I m going to look up a boat." 
 
 " He thinks he knows more about boats than the whole 
 admiralty. He may have a choice," suggested the 
 Scotchman doubtfully. 
 
 " Well, he said nothing of any particular boat or 
 man last night." 
 
 "If he doesn t like our choice, so much the worse 
 for him. He ought to be here. Suppose we take the 
 next best man we find." 
 
 In the gloom, as if sent by fate, a pair of burly 
 shoulders loomed up directly in their path. 
 
 "Let us take this broad-back, if he has a boat;" 
 and Staunton with his fine French and reserved man 
 ner accosted the figure. 
 
 The man turned and looked at them. He had an 
 unusually fresh skin for his age, and hard blue eyes. 
 It was Herve Rodellec, in an interval of sobriety, as 
 capable of sailing his boat and making a good specula 
 tion out of the strangers, as an} man on the bay. 
 
 "Ah, Rodellec!" began Staunton a little stiffly, 
 "we are looking for a boat. We want to go over 
 to the Lannions. Could you ah is your boat 
 ah?" 
 
 " Come and see for yourselves, gentlemen," Ro 
 dellec smiled and showed two rows of perfect teeth. 
 "She is just below. If there s a prettier craft in 
 Flouvenec, I never sailed a boat." 
 
 "Directly," returned the Englishman. "We are
 
 GUENN. 117 
 
 waiting for a friend. What are }-our terms, Rodellec? 
 We want the boat for the da} , you know." 
 
 "No more and no less than usual," Rodellec an 
 swered with jovial ambiguity, "and for pour boire, 
 whatever the gentlemen feel like giving, of course. 
 There are three of us and the mousse," he threw in 
 lightly. " Ah yes, monsieur can rely upon having things 
 on the square with Ilerve Rodellec. A franc Breton likes 
 everything above-board. As for the Lannious, I am 
 a cousin of the Lannions so to speak, monsieur le 
 recteur being cousin to my sainted wife, God rest 
 her soul," - crossing himself. "The recteur and I 
 are the best of friends. Oh, yes ! I m }"our man for the 
 Lannions : nobody better indeed," and he rubbed his 
 hands together with a cordial and trusting air, and 
 smiled, and pushed his beret farther back on his 
 flowing hair. 
 
 It is a curious fact that burly rascals with ros} r babj-- 
 skins win more confidence, from the world at large, than 
 their pale and melancholy brothers. Florid immorality 
 that punches you vulgarly in the ribs, and reveals to 
 you secrets that should be sacred to a fiend, seems less 
 reprehensible than vice brooding alone in the corner, 
 respecting, in a certain sense, its digntty and your own. 
 Familiarity, through some perverted reasoning, often has 
 the effect of ingenuousness. A loud laugh is reassuring, 
 while the quiet smile of an honorable man may suggest 
 an undermining polic} . In short, self-control implies 
 mind. Mind is dangerous. Welcome, then, to childish 
 volubility and ignorance. In them there is surely no 
 harm. So, from Caesar down, we fear the " lean and hun 
 gry look." Yet, is not cruelty robust as well as pallid, 
 and is any villain so hopelessly soulless as the strong 
 blond animal possessed of a sanguine temperament, a
 
 IIS 
 
 !;.:::: - : " "" . . - 
 
 DO re-morse. DO uneasy morbid reveries, and the roost 
 
 : - . .. - 
 
 sanity. He can betray his friend without losing his 
 appetite for his mutton-chop, beat his wife half dead 
 and sleep the dreamless sleep of an infant. The next 
 
 
 
 day be Las his jokes, his frank wars, his ready tears, 
 his conSiencts. and the world says : He is a good 
 
 : fcast . - 
 
 indeed is perfect? bat there is DO real haro: in him.^ 
 
 This is n t a bad one." Staanton said approvingly. 
 Suppose we let him make his terms clearer, and take 
 
 A: tiit ^.:^ri,t Hamor. with a cheerful face and 
 I:i^ strides, appeared. He called oace. was answered. 
 an i i zi ~ ~tr_ _ 
 
 Ah. --Tf- yoa are." he said blithely. "I m a 
 IhtJe late. y.>a see. I was detained. What on earth are 
 yon doing wi:i that old prize- aghter ? ~ giving Rodellec 
 ai tbe *z~j~ rl^e a r^ost frien-ily nod. Meuriee." he 
 sboctei emerge tijally. - Here, yon fellows there on 
 the waH. won t some of you have the kindness to see if 
 
 : . - - -. - ~ -._ . -;_-; 
 
 - - .._ " 3 - to his fri 
 "Metiriiie- is c-tir raan. vou know/" 
 
 It wis sorpming how much life Hamor infused into 
 
 - . . - - . . - - 
 
 bidding. Othrrs who>ra he knew came up. Men 
 emerged from the f->g : an I where he stood, with his 
 animated face an-i rea-iy word of greeting, the air 
 - 
 
 . -" ] - . - 
 
 .: . .. _ : . 
 
 .--.- --...
 
 GCEXX. 119 
 
 with the men. He hod had occasion to lead them m 
 
 helpinz hand, which he did with an air oC knowing the 
 roi>es. He asked them intelligent questions aboat the 
 eoasi and the fishing, and in return gave them inter 
 esting information about his own country. 
 
 A Jrst they had eyed him askance, as is their habit, 
 bat a man who knew so mnch aboct boats was not to 
 be scorned like a clninsy land-hibber. Then he never 
 forgot a name or a face. a gift of the gods as inrmla- 
 able in a fishing village as ai coort- In the presence of 
 a rough bat sympathetic crowd, he had once **^U*c4<^l 
 a fish-hook rather cleverly from a child s thumb, and 
 "had not hesitated to aid an old woman s slippery eflbrta 
 to rearranz? a basket of overturned eels. These two 
 acts of easy benevolence had won for him a prodigiooB 
 reputation for heart. He had a handsoa_e patriota 
 face, and they liked him none the less for that. He 
 wore a beret an 1 sabots. which indeed most of the 
 artists wore w ao might find it expedient to work all day 
 loaz in a marsh with, their feet reposing in a pool. 
 but he wore his beret down among their berets, his sabots 
 down among their sabots, and often nights, along the 
 paraper. his voice would join their choruses in a hearty 
 joyous fashion, which even withoat his responsive smile 
 was surely sirfi:ient to inspire perfect confidence. 
 
 His friends had been regaled with frequent bursts of 
 eloquence in rezard to the Breton seaman, who he de 
 clared was the finest fellow in the world. HMBOT was 
 prone to the use of the superlative. The last pretty 
 girl he saw was apt. for a couple of days, to be the 
 most beautiful giri he had ever seen in his life. The 
 last interesting book was the best book he ever read. 
 And I tell you what." he would say with a vast 
 amount of enthusiasm. thev have the verv finest
 
 120 GUENN. 
 
 possible manners, for men of their class. Not that I 
 recognize class distinction as you do, Staunton. Class 
 is an accident of no account : I use the word only as 
 a matter of conversational convenience." 
 
 " My dear fellow, we all know that you are a Nihil 
 ist," Staunton would retort mildly. 
 
 "No, I am only an American. But just observe 
 these sailors ; independent and perfectly courteous, 
 respectful without being obsequious. The} have a fine 
 reserve. They can give a joke and take one without 
 growing familiar. Can you produce anything better? 
 Can a duke do more?" he would demand sternly. 
 
 " Oh, I dare say not," Staunton would reply, laughing 
 with amiable indifference. 
 
 Now Ilamor stood in the centre of a friendly and 
 admiring group. Staunton watched him a few moments 
 with a humorous sense of his own unimportance. Ro- 
 dellec was watching too, with however nothing of a 
 humorous nature on his dogged face. At length Staun 
 ton said in gentle remonstrance : 
 
 " But, Ilamor, I ve already spoken to this man, don t 
 you know?" 
 
 " Oh, nevermind ! Give him a pour-boire. Meurice 
 is a famous fellow. You ll like Meurice. Then, I have 
 already told him I should want him to take me over to 
 the Lannions. So he is half-engaged, you see." 
 
 "Well, my man is just about half-engaged too," 
 Staunton said with a smile. 
 
 " "We might procure a fleet to transport us," drawled 
 Douglas, his hands behind him, his feet planted firmly 
 and far apart, in the compass-attitude he was apt to 
 assume for enjoyable listening. "Perhaps I d better 
 hurry and get still another ancient mariner." 
 
 "Do; and hurry by all means. Hurry as only 3-011
 
 GUENN. 121 
 
 and the little busy snail understand the word," began 
 Hamor pleasantly. "Ah, here s my man," raising his 
 beret in response to the greeting of a tall, fine-looking 
 sailor, whose manner deserved all the encomiums 
 Hamor had bestowed upon the fraternity, and whose 
 smile was as cordial as Ilamor s own. 
 
 " I in lucky to find you, patron," said the young man 
 heartily. "I ought perhaps to have seen you last 
 night, but it was late when we made our plans, }-ou 
 know." This little explanation was frankly directed to 
 the whole group, who seemed to find it highly satisfac 
 tory, and in fact to redound in some way to Monsieur 
 Hamor s credit. " And now the question is, Is it a good 
 day for the Lannions, and can you. take my friends 
 arid me over? " 
 
 "It s going to be a good day on sea, monsieur. The 
 fug is beginning to lift, and the boat is always ready for 
 you when you are ready for her, only she does smell 
 a bit strong of the fish of } - esterday, and no denying, 
 monsieur." 
 
 As he spoke, Rodellec came behind him and mut 
 tered something in Breton over his shoulder. " What 
 is that to me ? " returned Meurice quickly, with a shrug. 
 Rodellec continued in a low surly tone. 
 
 " Come, come," said Hamor briskly. "We must be 
 off; eh, patron? Let us not waste our time. Sans 
 rancune, Rodellec." 
 
 Rodellec faced him squarely. 
 
 "It s the second time you ve meddled with me. 
 You d better let me alone. You d better take care. 
 You d better " 
 
 " Such a bagatelle," returned Hamor, with easy good- 
 humor. "You d better be quiet, Rodellec. How can 
 you make a row so early in the morning ? "
 
 122 GUENN. 
 
 The sailors laughed. Who could be angry with this 
 sunny-faced gars? Evidently onlyHerv^ Rodellec, who 
 sullenly turned awa} . Staunton, with some contrition, 
 slipped into his hand a peace-offering. Rodellec s fin 
 gers closed over it with lofty unconsciousness. " Damn 
 him ! " he ejaculated, by way of distant acknowledgment. 
 
 " I would n t swear at a man s friend in a man s face," 
 observed Staunton gravely. "It s very bad taste;" 
 but for some reason his sympathies were entirely with 
 the discomfited Breton. The civil young Englishman s 
 mention of taste fell on dull ears ; still, Rodeliec seemed 
 to consider it worth while to answer : 
 
 " I have n t any grudge against 3-011, monsieur." 
 
 "Well, I am glad of that. Don t have any grudge 
 against anybody, and we 11 take a sail in your boat 
 some day." 
 
 Rodellec gave a pull at his beret, and walked off a few 
 steps. The laughter of his comrades sounded still in 
 hi ears. Hamor had again pleased the crowd, and 
 turned the joke against him. His jealous vanity filled 
 him with discomfort. " Laugh, you grinning young 
 fool ! It will be my turn some day ; " and he stood 
 watching the painter, who was bestowing cigarettes 
 upon ecstatic sailor-boys. 
 
 As the young man followed Meurice to the other 
 landing, Hamor, in excellent spirits, exclaimed : "Hand 
 some fellow ! Powerful fellow ! I like his angry eyes, 
 and his patriarchal hair, and his beastly temper. Upon 
 my word, little Guenn looks like him, and seems to have 
 inherited a fair share of the paternal temperament," he 
 added, laughing. " I must get that man to pose for me 
 some da} 7 ." 
 
 " Pose for you ! " It was Douglas who spoke. He 
 had not opened his lips or changed his attitude during
 
 GUENN. 123 
 
 the whole conversation after Meurice arrived. Now he 
 was gravely stalking along as usual, neither in line nor 
 in step with the others. Douglas might be deficient in 
 humor, as Hamor often said ; he might fail in the ap 
 prehension of subtle allusions ; but he was capable of 
 accepting the plain evidence of facts. It seemed to 
 him, curiously enough, at this moment, that Hamor was 
 not. 
 
 " Pose for 3-011 ! " he repeated. "Is it possible that 
 you don t perceive that the man hates you? I must 
 sa}*, I m glad of it rm self. It s good for you, you 
 know, Hamor. But there s not a shadow of a doubt. 
 Rodellec hates 3 - ou with a good, solid, black hate." 
 
 Hamor smiled. " Nonsense ! Nobody hates nowa 
 days." He blew a smoke ring into the heavy atmosphere, 
 and watched its ephemeral existence with interest. 
 
 " I honestly believe," said Staunton, looking straight 
 before him, " that Hamor is utterly devoid of principles 
 or susceptibilities where a model is concerned. He 
 would not hesitate to ask anybody to pose for him, 
 his brother s murderer, or the man that had run away 
 with his wife." 
 
 Hamor turned and stared. It was rare to hear a pro 
 nounced opinion from Staunton. Then, extravagant as 
 was his hypothesis, he spoke with an air of intimate 
 conviction. 
 
 " Well," said Hamor after a long pause, speaking 
 with slow emphasis, " if I could make a good picture of 
 them, why not?" 
 
 The young men walked on in silence. There seemed 
 to be an awkward break in their intercourse. Hamor 
 cared for the approval of his friends. He glanced from 
 one to the other inquiringly. 
 
 " What s the matter, old fellow?" he asked at length,
 
 124 GUENN. 
 
 putting his hand in a boyish fashion on Staunton s shoul 
 der. He looked like a boy this morning with his beret 
 pushed back from his bright face. "Has your native 
 fog clouded 3 our spirits, or is it turning out so 
 early?" 
 
 "Never mind, Hamor. It s all right, 3-011 know," 
 Staunton said with a touch of embarrassment. "At 
 least, it is my own fault." 
 
 " Oh, I don t mind," Hamor replied magnanimously. 
 
 It was now Staunton s turn to stare. Then he smiled, 
 and said softly, in his usual manner : 
 
 "You see one phenomenon gives birth to another. 
 How do I know but that I should alwa3 T s tell the truth 
 at six o clock in the morning? I shall sleep through the 
 dangerous moment hereafter." 
 
 " As heretofore," Douglas s deep bass concluded like 
 a strong organ-chord. 
 
 Meurice s boat fortunately now claimed their attention. 
 
 " She does smell a bit strong," Hamor said with a 
 little laugh. " But win* should n t she smell like a fish? 
 She is a fish. Wait till 3~ou see her swim, eh, 
 patron ? " 
 
 Meurice tried to look indifferent, but the corners of 
 his mouth twitched drolly. As he wore his beard stowed 
 awa3 r well under his chin, no concealment was possible. 
 The betraying feature, surrounded b3 r a bine and bristly 
 expanse, knew how to set hard in the face of danger, 
 but was now revealing its tender weaknesses. When 
 they praised his boat or his little daughter, his heart 
 bounded with joy. He put up his rough hand with an 
 awkward motion, and coughed ; but he could not cough 
 the pleasure out of his e3 es. 
 
 " She might be worse, she might be worse, he be 
 gan shyly ; then, after a cautious look at each of the
 
 GUENN. 125 
 
 three strangers, he seemed to gain confidence, and went 
 on with less reserve : 
 
 " She s the best boat on this bay. I don t say she is 
 as handsome as Monsieur Louis s, and I don t say she 
 can sail any faster, though as to that I have my opinion. 
 But if Monsieur Louis married a wife, he d want a dif 
 ferent kind of a wife from my wife ; and that s what I 
 do say ; and she d wear more gimcracks now, would n t 
 she? but she wouldn t be any the better woman for 
 that, and she wouldn t suit me as well as my old girl. 
 The fact is, messieurs," he continued, much flattered by 
 the evident sympathy of his audience, "a woman and 
 a boat are pretty much the same thing. You have to 
 know them in fair weather and foul, or yon need n t 
 think you know them at all. Are you a jeune homme?" 
 he suddenly asked Hamor, who was about to reply with 
 the matter-of-fact statement of his age, when some 
 instinct caused him to ask: "Do 3 - ou mean am I an 
 unmarried man?" 
 
 " Yes, that s what I sa}\ Are 3*011 a jeune homme ? " 
 Hamor, admitted that they all three were still enjoying 
 bachelor freedom. 
 
 " Then take my advice. Don t pretend to know them 
 until you ve sailed them in foul weather." The young 
 men, already in the boat, gayly assured him that they 
 would remember his words. 
 
 " Now, I know this one," and Menrice gave the mast 
 a mighty blow, and embraced the little craft in one 
 shrewd, quizzical look. " 1 know all her pretty wheed 
 ling waj-s, and all her tricks. She s got some pretty 
 bad tricks. They all have. But I don t go telling any 
 other man what they are, and I m her master, and she 
 knows it. No other man ever sailed her. If any other 
 man should sail her, I would never sail her again ! " and
 
 126 GUENN. 
 
 Meurice swore a good round oath by the holy bones of 
 St. Herve of Plouvenec, and went up the landing in 
 answer to a call. 
 
 " It is difficult to follow the thread of this discourse. 
 Is the good man talking of his better-half or his boat?" 
 asked Staunton, amused. 
 
 " Both, I imagine. Is n t he a character? I told you 
 you d like Meurice," Hainor answered. 
 
 It was a large open boat, lugger rig, freshly rubbed 
 down, very wet, and redolent of the sardines of yester- 
 da} and many yesterda} s. Two young sailors in blue 
 Jerseys and red belts had pulled off their berets, and 
 assumed, for a quarter of a minute, less lounging atti 
 tudes in the prow. The mousse, a wiry freckled bo} of 
 fourteen, who was devouring crepes turned his back 
 and made sure of another one of these delicacies before 
 the presence of the strangers should deprive him of his 
 joys. The remaining crepes broad buckwheat fritters 
 of tough and elastic constitution he then rolled up in 
 a much-used brown paper and tossed under a seat, 
 while, with successfully distended cheeks, he stared at 
 his ease and listened to his patron s words of wisdom. 
 
 The young men now felt no great impatience to be 
 off . There was something vastly enjo} able in the mo 
 ment. The fog was lifting ; the dense array of fishing- 
 boats disclosed itself clearer and clearer ; the voices and 
 movements of the sailors grew more animated. 
 
 Meurice was coming and going briskly. With stiff 
 shyness and a sudden ingratiating smile, he approached 
 his guests: "The gentlemen wouldn t mind if I took 
 these girls along?" pointing up the wharf. " It is only 
 Nona and little Helene and Marie. I promised them a 
 sail over to the islands if I should go out to-day. They 
 don t often get the chance. The} will be quiet. The}
 
 GUENN. 127 
 
 will not trouble the gentlemen. And it being a 
 Sunday " looking at Hamor. 
 
 " Why take them, by all means. Of course they will 
 not disturb us. And we know Nona. Good-morning, 
 Nona. Good-morning, little Helene.- And the other is 
 Marie?" looking hard at the girl, "You may be 
 good ; 3-011 certainly are not beautiful," he added 
 gravel} , in English. Staunton and Douglas also gave 
 the shy rosy girls, in their Sunday coiffes and kerchiefs, 
 a word of greeting, whereupon they all came down with 
 an air of repressed excitement, and climbed, rather 
 heavily, into the boat. 
 
 " Curious how badly these girls move, most of them," 
 commented Hamor ; " like cows, you know, quite." 
 
 Meurice, with a deprecating pull at his beret, again 
 disappeared. 
 
 " Don t 3*011 suppose it s their skirts?" hazarded 
 Slaunton. "The}" wear such an abominable mass of 
 folds on their hips. How can they walk decentby? 
 Who could?" 
 
 " Guenn Rodellce," replied Hamor, with decision. 
 
 " Well, she is a graceful little thing," Staunton 
 admitted. 
 
 " She is the onl\ r perfectly graceful woman I ever 
 saw," announced Hamor emphatically. 
 
 " Woman ! " exclaimed Douglas. "Call her a^lhing 
 but a woman. She s a child, a will-o -the-wisp, a bo3 T . 
 She can climb, run, jump, ride on a broom-stick for all 
 I know. Whew, how she skims over the ground ! " 
 
 "She s a beautiful woman, all the same," insisted 
 Hamor. "Wait till 3-011 see her skimming, as you call 
 it. up and down our Jacob s ladder." 
 
 "Ah, 3 ou still think 3 ou can get her?" Staunton 
 said quietly.
 
 128 GUENN. 
 
 "I have never doubted it an instant. And when I 
 get her, I 11 lend her to you." 
 
 " Oh, thanks ! " Staunton turned awa} T to watch the 
 battlements rise from the rolling mists. 
 
 With Mcurice now appeared two strangers whom the 
 artists had often seen in the village streets, a young 
 Alsatian scientific man who was working in the Plouve- 
 nec vivier, and a professor of natural history from a 
 college in the south of France. Much learning had 
 made one of them hopelessly despondent, and the other 
 a universal mocker. Both, however, promised to be 
 amiable companions for a da} . They, too, wished to 
 go to the Lannions, and had engaged a man who left 
 them in the lurch. Some one on the qua} referred them 
 to Meurice, who, in his turn, appealed to Hamor. 
 
 He expressed himself as charmed with the addition 
 to his part} , and did the honors of the old fishing-boat 
 with grace. " Only," he added, " we must not let the 
 patron go off again. We must rope him to the mast. 
 He brings back a treasure-trove each time ; but we are 
 complete now. We are perfect. We can set sail, eh, 
 patron? " and he took his place at the helm with a " Will 
 you trust me to steer her ? " 
 
 " That I will, m sieu ," Meurice said heartil}*. Then 
 to the others, " M sieu Hamor is a born sailor. He 
 could take a boat through the Raz. M sieu ought to 
 have been a Breton." 
 
 The bare-footed mousse unfurled the jib, they pushed 
 off, the sails filled, and the little boat, lightly cutting 
 the waves, glided out from the long line of masts into 
 broader waters, left the island-fortress in her wake, 
 passed the great digue, rounded the point where the 
 light-house stood, and soon was in the open bay, run 
 ning along finely with the wind on the beam. The
 
 GUENN. 129 
 
 long curves of the white beaches receded fast, with 
 soft stretches of dune and meadow and noble woods 
 reaching down towards the eager shining arms of the 
 sea. 
 
 With every fresh tack the young men s faces revealed 
 a deeper enjoyment. When men thoroughly enjoy 
 boating, their burdens seem to vanish in foam, their 
 cares to float off on the free winds, as soon as the sails 
 are unfurled. Nowhere else did the droop of the Alsa 
 tian s melancholy nose and his sad and short-sighted 
 eyes, blinking drearily behind his spectacles, so nearly 
 withdraw their protest against the cosmic scheme, while 
 the professor s mockery was modified into almost harm 
 less jollit}-. He never sneered at a good sail-boat, a 
 happy instance that the most inveterate scoffer may yet 
 hold something sacred. 
 
 Nona and Marie grew steadily pinker in the stiff breeze. 
 While they were not actually afraid, their faces wore a 
 certain deeply surprised expression, and a lurch of the 
 boat was apt to cause shrill ejaculations, and invoca 
 tions to all the saints of Brittany, followed by subdued 
 and embarrassed laughter. Little Helene sat bolt up 
 right and clutched the seat with both hands. Neither 
 her attitude nor the look on her small round face indi 
 cated complete surrender of herself to the joys of her 
 first sail, and it was possible that her pent-up emotions 
 would vent themselves in wailing and tears the moment 
 her little sabots touched the sands. 
 
 The two dark sailors chatted and joked with the girls. 
 Meurice said little, but heard and saw much, turning 
 his head slowly with a shrewd smile upon the sky, the 
 sea, the compan}-, and now and then giving a quick 
 order to the mousse, who, in the intervals of tacking, 
 unneeded and unnoticed, ate crepes. The strangers, in 
 
 9
 
 130 GUENN. 
 
 easy attitudes on kegs and coils of rope, talked or were 
 silent as their mood suggested. A happy silence pre 
 vailed, and Meurice s boat showed only her " pretty 
 wheedling ways." 
 
 Harnor swung his left arm round the tiller and began 
 sketching the voracious mousse. The professor came 
 nearer and watched the sketch grow. Hamor finished 
 it and turned a leaf in his book. His eye fell upon his 
 attempt to fix on paper Guenn Rodellec s beautiful 
 action. He smiled, recalling the scene in the boat, 
 then attentively studied his drawing. 
 
 " I shall be able to get it when I don t have to work 
 like a thief in the night," he thought. 
 
 "Is your sketch-book only for the. eye, of genius, 
 monsieur," began the professor politely; "or may an 
 earth-born worm venture to " 
 
 " Oh, you are welcome to examine it, if you have the 
 patience," Hamor said affably; "but there s nothing 
 in it interesting or even intelligible to anybody but my 
 self. It s on by a kind of note-book to aid my memory. 
 It is full of the most fleeting impressions, you see." 
 He turned the leaves slowly. " Here s a boy playing 
 top. The boy is nothing ; I only wanted his right leg. 
 This is a cloud-effect over a church. These marks 
 mean cobalt, and those, flake-white. These apparently 
 delirious strokes represent a girl in a boat, with a cer 
 tain background I wished to preserve. She s a petit 
 diable, and I had to sketch her surreptitious!} ; it was 
 the splendid swing of the waist that I tried to get. 
 You will observe that I did not succeed ; but To 
 morrow is also a day. Here s an old woman fishing 
 on the digue. She s rather more discernible. But 
 you should see my friend Staunton s sketches ; they are 
 finished works of art."
 
 GUENN. 131 
 
 " I am very sorry ; I did n t bring my book," Staun- 
 ton said, with a smile completely devoid of regret ; " I 
 came for a rest." 
 
 " I never move without mine. How do I know when 
 a great inspiration is going to seize me ; and there s 
 more blind chance in Plouvenec than in most places," 
 remarked Hamor, still thinking of Guenn. " Xow look 
 at us here in this boat. What brought us together? 
 Could anything be more incongruous than we ? " 
 
 " Could anything be more agreeable, sounds more 
 civil," Staunton suggested. 
 
 "I don t imagine that the pilgrims who used to set 
 sail from the Breton coasts in search of the blessed isle 
 of Avalon were even as well assorted as we," drawled 
 Douglas. 
 
 " But the} never took anything along more seductive 
 than butter," and the professor threw a wicked little 
 glance towards the squarely built young women. " The 
 old Breton monks and their tubs of fresh butter were 
 inseparable. Ah, yes, their chants, their piety, and 
 their butter ! " 
 
 "And each told the story of his pious life," Hamor 
 added. "What if we should tell our experiences?" 
 looking rather malicious!}* at the little circle. 
 
 " Monsieur, you are imaginative and enthusiastic," 
 said the Frenchman gravely. "It is admirable." 
 
 " In the first place, not one of us is honest enough," 
 Douglas began with slow emphasis. " Of course," 
 with an explanatory wave of his long arm, "I speak 
 with absolute conviction only of my own part}*." 
 
 " I hope, at least, that there is not one of us who 
 has n t more sense," Staunton said with his amiable 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, I proposed nothing at all ! " Hamor protested.
 
 132 GUENN. 
 
 " Personally I do not feel in the least communicative. 
 It simply occurred to me we might be carrying a curious 
 cargo of reminiscences." 
 
 " But it was a ghastly thought ! " exclaimed the Alsa 
 tian, with a groan. "The lost illusions of five men, 
 the horrible weight of their aggregate suffering, mean 
 ness, helplessness, blunders, and the dreary treadmill 
 of their existence ! It is enough to sink the boat." 
 
 "Ah, but my pessimism is less complete," Hamor 
 said cheerfully. "I have relapses of it: it is not my 
 chronic state." 
 
 "What am I more than that fish down there?" de 
 manded the Alsatian wearily. " I may have a greater 
 capacity for pain ; but am I less helpless, less irrespon 
 sible than he? I am not." 
 
 "And yet I should have said, monsieur, that you. 
 were an able-bodied man," Douglas remarked commis- 
 eratingly. 
 
 The others laughed, and even the Alsatian faintly 
 smiled, gazing with half-closed eyes upon the sk} T and 
 sea. Then his Dantesque nose drooped sorrowfully, 
 and he lay back in silent contemplation of the futility 
 of existence and the martyrdom of man. 
 
 "I presume that I agree with my friend intellec 
 tually," laughed the professor; "but I don t find it 
 worth while to take life so seriously." 
 
 " I don t think an artist can possibly find existence 
 a treadmill," Staunton remarked in his mild way. 
 
 " I ma} be mean, I may be helpless," began Hamor 
 energetically, "and it is perfectly immaterial to me 
 what adjectives I deserve. The fact is, I am what I 
 produce. I admit no other measurement. If I could 
 paint better pictures for never having learned to read, 
 I would gladly blot out of my life the little education
 
 GUENN. 133 
 
 I possess. Look there," and he pointed to another lug 
 ger whose tawny sails were prettily dipping as she 
 crossed their bows, and seemed to plunge from a mass 
 of blue-black water, portentous as a thunder-cloud, into 
 a stream of pale iridescent green, crested with foam 
 "look," he spoke with his italicized manner, to the 
 huge delight of the professor, who studied him with 
 twinkling eyes as if he were a new specimen "if I 
 could paint that little boat as I see her with my eyes, 
 the motion, the breeze in those warm sails, the pas 
 sion and gloom of that storm} violet, the coldness of 
 that cruel green, like a strong man with a shallow 
 woman by his side, together yet never united 
 
 "Or like iron and chalk in a melting-pot," suggested 
 the professor dryly. 
 
 "Or for simple folks, like oil and water," Douglas 
 added. Ilamor, with shining eyes and the inspired look 
 of a young prophet, watched the swiftly passing picture, 
 until all its tones were lost in a meaningless gray, and 
 the two boats were already far apart. 
 
 " Well?" said the professor quizzically. 
 
 Hamor looked at him, smiled, and said nothing. 
 
 4t He was about to swear that he would be willing to 
 put a leathern girdle about his loins, live on locusts and 
 wild hone}*, and stoop to any crime, eh, Hamor?" 
 
 Ilamor nodded good-humoredly. 
 
 " That is about it, Douglas," he answered carelessly. 
 The brilliant look of interest had faded from his face. 
 
 He was sketching again, this time little Helene, glanc 
 ing very kindly at the timid child almost as pale to-day 
 as her coiffe. Hole-lie gave him a faint smile. She was 
 seven years old, a regular model, a favorite with all the 
 artists, and earned more francs a month than her mother 
 received in the ursine. Her round face in the small cap,
 
 134 GUENN. 
 
 her light-blue eyes and cherub mouth, were well known 
 to Paris dealers. The child would lift her cheek to be 
 kissed, and smile serenely at 3 ou, with a certain con 
 scious dignity, as of one who completely fills her niche 
 in the world. The moment Ilamor s glance, idle enough 
 it seemed, fell upon her, she knew it and posed. She 
 was very fond of Monsieur Hamor. What child in 
 the village was not, indeed ? He moved his head slightly 
 to the left, and raised his chin with a significant look. 
 The little thing promptly imitated him, and held her 
 position tolerably well in spite of the motion of the 
 boat. Her attitude became less rigid. The color 
 crept to her cheeks. Little Helene had alread}- posed 
 three years, and instinctively -responsive to the familiar 
 pantomime she almost forgot how the boat bobbed and 
 how big and cold and wet the waves looked. 
 
 "You are diligent, monsieur," said the professor at 
 H amor s side. 
 
 " I amuse myself." 
 
 " But your fancy just now, that we might all tell our 
 life-stories like the pilgrims in the old tales? Surely 
 to 3 our artist-eyes we bear them on our faces." 
 
 The painters looked at one another and laughed. 
 "That is very flattering to our perceptive faculties," 
 Staunton began, " but 
 
 " But, unfortunately, an artist, like another man, has 
 the privilege of being a fool," Douglas added bluntly. 
 
 " I was about to sa} r ," continued Staunton, " that a 
 man may be thankful if he has one positively good gift 
 in his art. To read and copy a face perfectly, he 
 would need to have all good gifts, and a divine inspira 
 tion." 
 
 " And what do you say, monsieur?" the professor 
 asked Hamor.
 
 GUENN. 135 
 
 Hamor s eyes were cast down. He looked extremely 
 mild. A half-tender smile was playing about his lips. 
 He found little Helene charming. His beret had fallen 
 off, and the sunlight made his soft dull hair fairer, 
 while in his slight and somewhat youthful growth of 
 beard and mustache were yellow gleams. His face 
 looked singularly long, narrow, and delicate in contrast 
 to Staunton s and the professor s. 
 
 " I ? " he said, without glancing up. I agree with my 
 friend. A man who paints a perfect portrait must read 
 the soul of his subject. Did Titian even fail to sound 
 his man ? But how many perfect portraits do we see ? " 
 
 "A painter may discern a man s aspirations," mur 
 mured the Alsatian, " but the wretched limitations of life 
 are not written on our faces. Our desires and our possi 
 bilities are always at cross-purposes. So the painter 
 fails as our faces fail to express the truth." 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," Staunton said, " but I believe 
 that ever\ face in the boat tells an unerring tale, not only 
 to an artist s e3*es, but to any thoughtful observer. We 
 may fail to read aright. A trifle may lead us astray. 
 But our faces never lie." 
 
 The boat was running along steadily, and the conver 
 sation had attracted the attention of the sailors and girls. 
 Indeed the latter had been from the first quite cogni 
 zant of all that Hamor said and did. They liked him. 
 He snemed to be kindly aware of their presence. While 
 the professor made them ill at ease, with his mocking 
 stare, and the three other gentlemen were as uncon 
 scious of their presence as if they were coils of rope or 
 piles of sardine-nets. 
 
 A modest whispering, accompanied by many glances 
 at Hamor, began among the Bretons in the bow. His 
 face bent over his work, expressing a tender comprehen-
 
 136 GUENN. 
 
 sion of childhood at large and of little Helene as its 
 nearest representative, was receiving the intent scrutiny 
 of seven pairs of eyes. At length he became conscious 
 of it, and looked up inquiringly. 
 
 Douglas, who sat nearest the Bretons, said quietly : 
 "These girls imagine that the}- have discovered a sin 
 gular resemblance." 
 
 "Between 3*011, I am sure, and a certain eminent 
 historical personage," added the professor in a low tone 
 to Hamor. 
 
 "It is the same face," began Nona, timid yet eager, 
 " that is in the great picture in the church, with the chil 
 dren around Him, and the little ones in His arms 
 and " 
 
 Hamor flushed, rose abruptly, thrust his sketch-book 
 into his pocket, letting the tiller swing, seized his beret, 
 pulled it well down on his forehead, and turned his back 
 to the others. 
 
 Staunton, with more cordiality than he had shown 
 Hamor that day, said : 
 
 " We know you do not pose for it, Hamor." 
 
 " Good heavens, no ! Do me that justice. Nothing 
 annoys me more. I have heard it quite often enough." 
 
 "Monsieur Hamor!" called Metirice, " where is my 
 man at the helm? Do } ou see the islands? Run her 
 between the fort and the light. You see the Penfret 
 phare?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, patron," answered Hamor, and jammed 
 down the helm. The professor crossed to Staunton s 
 side, and asked maliciously: "Where is 3 our theory 
 now ? " 
 
 "Undisturbed," was the tranquil answer. "As I 
 said, we are not all physiognomists." 
 
 "Monsieur Hamor has, it is evident, narrow tem 
 ples, "
 
 GUENN. 137 
 
 Staunton was a good conventional Roman Catholic. 
 " Pardon, monsieur." he interrupted ; u but need we go 
 into details? I admit a resemblance to a type often 
 made use of in certain pictures. I have been frequently 
 struck with it. But it annoys Monsieur Hamor ; and 
 as for myself " 
 
 "Oh, by all means let us drop the subject, if you 
 have any scruples," said the Frenchman, with a good- 
 natured shrug. "And there lie the Lannions?" 
 
 "Mon dieu, how triste they are, the nine barren 
 sisters ! " exclaimed the Alsatian. 
 
 " Sisters? They look like a rugged vanguard of he 
 roes meeting the first rush of an angry foe," said Hamor, 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 "And to me," remarked the debonair professor, 
 "the} 7 look like nine flat and uninteresting islands, 
 with not a solitary claim to picturesqueness, but with, I 
 am informed, specimens of the Labrus quadrimaculatus , 
 the Chenopus pespelicani, and even of the very rare 
 Balanoglossus salmoneus." 
 
 " Rocks to the starboard, M sieur Hamor ! " 
 
 " Oui, patron," called Hamor brightly.. They soon 
 passed several smooth conical rocks, outposts of the 
 Lannions, just raising their ugly black heads above the 
 waves. 
 
 -" Nasty things to come on unawares ! " and Meurice 
 nodded his head in repeated asseveration, scrutinizing 
 them with much animosity. " They ve punched a hole 
 in many a good boat s ribs, and helped to fill the grave 
 yard on the Loch." 
 
 They neared the phare on Penfret, the fort on the 
 Cigogne, the cluster of fishermen s houses on St. 
 Nicholas, and the rude chapel on the Loch. They 
 saw no striking outlines, no towering cliffs, nothing to
 
 138 GUENN. 
 
 attract the ordinary eye, as the professor had said, 
 nothing picturesque. The significance of the Lannions 
 was something deeper than the picturesque contains. 
 Barren, desolate, with long stretches of purest sand 
 meeting long stretches of coarse grass, revealing liquid 
 depths of gold and purple and shining green, a royal 
 splendor of color such as one dreams must fill a deep 
 sea-cave with light, the islands impressed the artists 
 with their extraordinary remoteness from the world. 
 The shores seemed like untrodden virgin soil. The 
 pure, cool breath of the ocean refreshed them con 
 tinually. The Lannions belonged not to the land but 
 to the vast realm of the sea. No wonder that it jeal 
 ously claimed its own ! What right had man here ? 
 
 The boat anchored by the Loch, but some distance 
 out, as the tide was ebb or just turning. Over the 
 slippery rocks covered with treacherous masses of sea 
 weed the 3"oung men made their way. 
 
 " You see that it is monotonous," said the professor, 
 "flat, dull." 
 
 "Yes, it is monotonous," replied Hamor absently, 
 his face radiant, his eager eyes discovering in every 
 transparent pool qualities of color that were a tangible 
 oy to him. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a little cry of distress. Turning, 
 he saw that Helene, scrambling along behind the others 
 and making what seemed to her smallness perilous leaps, 
 had slipped and fallen. The next moment he had run 
 lightly back, swung the child up on his shoulder, and 
 was carrying her securely to dry land. 
 
 Meurice from his boat saw it. "That gars has a 
 heart," he said. " The others were nearer." 
 
 Having landed behind the chapel, they passed the 
 cure s tiny garden-plot, where a few herbs and heads of
 
 GUENN. 
 
 139 
 
 coarse salad led a meagre and precarious existence 
 beside a rabbit-pen well fortified by stones. Hamor, in 
 advance with the professor, came round towards the 
 church-porch ; but before descending the bank that 
 slightly sheltered one side of the chapel, they stopped 
 short in considerable surprise.
 
 CHAPTEB IX. 
 
 THYMtLKT was stanling at his chapel door. tall. 
 erect. Ms dark bead bare. He had raised an old 
 ri3e to his shoulder, pointing it indefinitely over the 
 w&ves. A Hash, a report- he lowered his gun. and 
 saw tiie strangers. With a warm smile he came quick! v 
 towards them. 
 
 * Is th:-=- a war-signal, oosienr le reetenrr*" Hamor 
 said, taking the priest s outstretched hand. We are 
 pQgrims- not invaders." 
 
 Toe are my welooa>e gce=ts, T " replie>i the cure, with 
 the graejousness of a prince. I was calling my people 
 to mass." he explained simply. Our chapel l-^^ no 
 _. 
 
 He looked with frank interest at each face. Aftei 
 _ : -. ~ :". -- - , _ . 
 
 " They do Dot come. I see. Ther are sometimes late. 
 I must fre again." He gravely reloaded and fired : then 
 stood shading his eyes wita Lis hand, and scanning his 
 
 alm. imtH he saw some boats 
 
 rom
 
 GL EIX. 
 
 Ah. there they are ! They Tl be here soon." he said 
 contentedly. Turning with his flashing smiLe to his 
 guests : "Messieurs, you will attend mass, aad then 
 you will breakfast with me.^ This was an ajmocmce- 
 ment of his sovereign will rather tha.n an invitation- 
 Yoa will give me that great pleasure. Bat pardon, 
 you have not seen ray housed Preceding them with 
 his swinging step, he threw open a door on one side, 
 then on the other, of the smnl! square vestibule finished 
 in rough boards. 
 
 Here is my dining-room and study: thi^ is mv 
 bedroom. Consider it all your own. gentlemen. It 
 seems a curious place to yoa. no doubt, but you are 
 welcome everywhere. It may arnose yoa to examine 
 my quarters." He threw open clipboards where books, 
 old newspapers, and bottles were heaped together in 
 dusty confusion. He showed them the passage k ^ig 
 from his study to his kite-hen, cosily situated left of the 
 choir : and on the other side of the church a similar 
 one from his bedroom to the sacristy. 
 
 Whether it was owing to Thymert s example, or to 
 the salt smell, or to the nautical appearance of things 
 in general, the young men felt as if they were on a ship, 
 began to walk with caution as if planks were rising to 
 meet their feet, and would have experienced little sur 
 prise had the chapel of Our Lady of the Sea set sail foe 
 Spain. Implements of various kinds, spades, ladders, 
 oars, lay along the passages. There were also a few 
 rude beds, and a quiet nook apart for the drowned dead 
 to lie until they should be borne to toe little church 
 yard. 
 
 " You see we are not so very poor at the Lannions,*" 
 Thymert said, smiling always, bat that we can give a 
 guest a night s quarters. In fact, ooce when we were
 
 142 GUENN. 
 
 very full, I put a stranger in there," pointing signifi 
 cantly over his shoulder. " He did not sleep the worse 
 for it, as he did not know, and" with a shrug "liv 
 ing or dead, we are but men." 
 
 "There are many drowned men washed upon the 
 islands, I have heard," remarked Hamor. 
 
 Mon dieu, yes," said the priest thoughtfully. They 
 seem to be weary of tossing about on the waves, and 
 come pleading for burial under our Blessed Lady s 
 protection. We had a funeral here only last week. 
 The gentlemen would, I think, have found it a strange 
 scene. A poor fellow was washed on the sands, here 
 on the Loch, before m}- chapel door. He la}- face down. 
 The commandant of the Merle was here that day with 
 some of his men. You know the commandant? " He is 
 a noble man. You should have heard the few words he 
 spoke to his sailors. They wrapped the drowned man 
 in the flag, and we buried him out there, and they never 
 turned him once. They did not dare to look at his face, 
 you understand. He was lost overboard probably from 
 some French man-of-war passing us far out at sea. 
 The commandant stood before his men, and told them 
 that sooner or later this was the end which he and 
 they must meet ; that it does not matter when the 
 end comes, if it finds a man at his post. The sea is the 
 sailor s grave, but the wave that sweeps over him will 
 wash him into a safe haven. The strange sailor whom 
 we had laid to rest was happ}-, wrapped in the beloved 
 flag of France, with a last farewell from sailor lips, with 
 sailors pra} T ers for his soul. Let every man do his 
 duty, and look death boldly in the face. Then he will 
 be worthy to be buried in the flag of his country, to be 
 mourned by brave men ; and when the sea claims him 
 as its own, be it to-day, to-inorrow, or after }-ears, he is
 
 GUENN. 143 
 
 ready. Courage and duty was what the commandant 
 taught his men. It is what he always teaches them," 
 he added warmly, " not only with words, but with his 
 life." 
 
 "And you, monsieur le recteur, did you say noth 
 ing?" asked Staunton. 
 
 Thymert looked at him modestly. "Oh, yes! after 
 the burial service I spoke to my Bretons, of course. 
 I said very much the same thing as the commandant, 
 but I cannot speak as he does. When he speaks, it 
 stirs the blood. I have no eloquence, you know ; but 
 my men are used to me. They understand my voice. 
 When I tell them we must all live and die like brave 
 Bretons, they believe me." 
 
 "You appear to make a strong distinction between. 
 Frenchman and Breton, I observe," said the professor, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Monsieur, I would fight with France against any 
 other nation, but I would fight with Brittany against 
 France. I love France : I am a Frenchman. But, first 
 of all, I am a Breton," and he drew himself up with 
 almost defiant pride and a warm flash in his eyes. " It 
 is a pit} , gentlemen," he went on after a moment, 
 "that yon did not hear the commandant. You would 
 never be able to forget such a scene. While we stood 
 there the wind rose, and the waves seemed to be in a 
 great fury, as if the}* were determined to sweep us 
 and the fresh grave away. Oh, yes!" with a quiet 
 smile, "the sea will have us all, soon or late, as 
 the commandant said. But the gentlemen will excuse 
 me. I must go to the sacristy, or my people will be 
 justified in firing the gun to call their recteur. After 
 mass, then. Sans adieu, messieurs." And away he 
 strode down the rough passage under the eaves, bow-
 
 144 
 
 ing his high head to enter the small doorway of the 
 sacristy. 
 
 He was simple as a child, autocratic as a Caesar. 
 On his islands, absolute monarch, he anticipated no 
 resistance from his guests. The five men had listened 
 to him with deference. There was a singular fascina 
 tion in his strong personality. He seemed to be larger 
 than any one of them, although not taller than Hamor 
 and Douglas, and less heavily built than the professor. 
 He spoke rapidly, often abruptly, and on his face every 
 passing emotion revealed itself fearlessly. 
 
 " I would n t go to mass for any other man on earth," 
 said the professor, with a grimace ; " but we are in the 
 hands of our superior. Allons. Let us face the 
 candles." 
 
 They turned and went into the little chapel, begin 
 ning to fill now with its fisher congregation, summoned 
 across the waters by the sound of their recteur s gun. 
 Staunton, a gentle approving smile on his face, much 
 pleased with Thymert, and at home in any church, knelt 
 between a withered old crone and a beggar with a 
 wooden leg. The two philosophers, with an expression 
 of loft} T patience, leaned against the wall ; while Hamor 
 and Douglas curiously examined the rough building, its 
 decorations of colored paper, its simpering wooden 
 image of Our Lad}- of the Isles, adorned with tawdry 
 flowers and gold and silver tinsel much tarnished by the 
 sea-damp. 
 
 "That a strong man can pray before that ghastly 
 figure ! " thought Ilamor. " I must paint him a decent 
 picture some da}-," pushing a prie-dieu towards a 
 woman with a baby on her breast, and stooping to pick 
 up a breviary which a lame man had dropped. Through 
 the open door he could see a boundless expanse of 
 ocean.
 
 GUENN. 145 
 
 The tide had turned, and was creeping in over yel 
 low seaweed and little pools. The mundane cut of 
 Staunton s coat made him smile, lie scarcely knew why. 
 " Staunton s an uncommon!} good fellow," he thought 
 kindly, with some wonder watching his friend rise and 
 kneel and cross himself in unison with the old woman 
 on the left and the old man on the right. Meanwhile 
 the responses were more fervent than harmonious, and 
 it was impossible not to remark that Thy inert did not 
 intend to lose much time. Not that there was any per 
 ceptible want of dignity in his manner ; but he moved 
 about the chancel in a masterful wa} , somewhat as if he 
 were treading a quarter-deck, and gave his small acolyte 
 in rough shoes considerable trouble to keep up with 
 him. While his voice was strong and rich, his intoning 
 lacked the singing legato cadence common to the con 
 ventional priest, and the chapel seemed scarcely large 
 enough to contain his superabundant vitality. 
 
 Soon, ver}* soon it seemed to Hamor, mass was over, 
 and the coiffed women, the disabled sailors, many of 
 them old men with flowing hair and crutches, streamed 
 out of the chapel, and, chatting, walked slowly down 
 towards their boats or loitered for a word with their 
 recteur. No.na and Marie, with Helene, whispered to 
 gether and looked about curiously. There were many 
 faces which the artists found interesting, strong, 
 weather-beaten, stern still, in spite of age, as of 
 men who had faced danger half a century or more. 
 Few young men were present. It was fair weather and 
 the boats were out. 
 
 Presently Thymert, freed from his surplice, came 
 swinging down the chapel in the old soutane. 
 
 " I did that in twenty-three minutes ! " he announced 
 triumphantly to his amused guests, awaiting him, in the 
 
 10
 
 146 GUENN. 
 
 vestibule. "And now, messieurs, we will have our 
 breakfast. My good Brigitte has done what she 
 could." 
 
 " Monsieur le rectcur," said Hamor, "3*011 will not 
 scorn a couple of hampers madame at the Voj ageurs 
 packed for us? Consider," in laughing apology, "we 
 are five hungry men, descending upon } ou after a sail 
 of four hours." 
 
 Thymert, undisturbed, said with his grandest air, 
 "Oh, thanks, we are not proud at the Lannions." 
 Then, smiling, " I have never known madame at the 
 Vo3*ageurs to do anything inopportune or unacceptable. 
 I reall3* hope there are lobsters," he added with eager 
 ness, " for Brigitte tells me she has none this morning." 
 
 Not one of those five men ever forgot that simple 
 breakfast at the Lannions ; where the little acolyte, 
 divested of his robe, sprang eagerly to do their bidding, 
 and the young priest, with his dark, eloquent face, was 
 their host, and the old Atlantic rose while they sat and 
 talked, until his mighty winds sounded in their ears, 
 and the surf, breaking in strong sunlight, flung its rain 
 bow spra3* against the chapel window-panes. 
 
 Tbymert produced after a while a couple of venerable 
 bottles, hoan* with dust and cobwebs. " We will drink 
 this together," he cried jo3*fulh* ; "it is the gift of 1113- 
 good bishop. I had forgotten that I had it. But 3-011 
 will perceive a grand difference." lie filled their glasses 
 himself with a friendly look in the face of each guest. 
 In his manner was the fine warmth of hospitalit3". lie 
 was eager, cordial, almost affectionate. The charm of 
 his naturalness was irresistible. The3* a ^ responded by 
 giving him their best and happiest mood. 
 
 When they talked of the Lannions, of Plouvenec, of 
 Brittan3*, he was well-informed and interesting. If the
 
 GUENN. 147 
 
 conversation touched upon some topic of the world 
 beyond, he asked the naive questions of an intelligent 
 child. Some one happening to wish to refer to a news 
 paper of the district, Thymert, unconcerned, produced 
 the latest one he possessed, a Quimper journal six weeks 
 old, and smiled with his guests as the} saw the date. 
 
 " M}* friend Morot brings me newspapers sometimes, 
 but they do not interest me much. I have work enough 
 usually without reading. Then, often I am sailing my 
 good boat. When I have time to read, I take my Vir 
 gil," he remarked with perfect simplicity. " Often he 
 is my only companion except little Erec." 
 
 "And Brigitte?" suggested one of the young men, 
 interested in this hermit life. 
 
 " She has a family on Penfret. She comes only when 
 I have need of her ; always Sundays, and now and then 
 during the week. I call her with two gun-shots. Erec 
 cooks for me usually : he is a famous steward. Erec," 
 with an indulgent smile at the sunburnt acolyte, 
 " tell these gentlemen what 3*011 can cook." 
 
 " Monsieur le recteur is content with his milk soup," 
 answered the boy with timid pride, followed by a look 
 of mortification, and the abject confession, " but I often 
 burn the crepes." 
 
 Thymert laughed with the others. " Never mind, 
 Erec," he said encouragingly. " I have burned many 
 a civpe for the recteur of Beuzec, when he was beating 
 Latin into 1113- dull pate. Ah, how I suffered, and how 
 I thank him now ! I was a ve^y good mousse. My 
 people were all sailors. But books were my despair. 
 Erec is a good mousse too, and much better at his 
 books than I ever was." 
 
 "And you read your Virgil here nights alone, when 
 the sea is high and the winds come sweeping across
 
 148 GUENN. 
 
 half a world?" II amor pictured the cure with an old 
 book in his hand, his eyelids drooping and a Gerard 
 Dow effect of flickering candle-light upon his bowed, 
 tonsured head, dark, shaven cheek, and strong chin. 
 
 "Because my Virgil is all I know," Thymert said 
 simply. "But I know him almost by heart. Nights, 
 when there is a bad sea and any of my boats are out, 
 and I am anxious about my brave fellows, I walk up 
 and down the chapel and repeat my Virgil." 
 
 "No wonder that you need no morning newspaper 
 from Quimper, or even the Paris Figaro," Staunton 
 exclaimed heartity. 
 
 "Do you know the story of our Saint Kadoc? I 
 presume not. Our Breton saints belong to the soil. 
 The\* arc a home-loving, tenacious race. They do not 
 go out into your great world ; they would feel awkward 
 there." Thymert was smiling frankly. 
 
 "Kadoc?" Hamor reflected an instant. "Where 
 have I heard that name recently ? Ah!" with an 
 amused look "I remember: Kadoc is a Plouvenec 
 amphibious animal." 
 
 "No, no, monsieur; Kadoc was a very tender 
 hearted saint who loved his Virgil, to excess, per 
 haps. You will see I follow an illustrious example. 
 Shall I tell }-ou about him ? I am talking very much 
 to-day, I fear ; I am excited ; I am not used to such 
 pleasant company. I did not know that I should like 
 so many strangers at once. Now I wish you would 
 come often," he exclaimed with boyish eagerness. " It 
 makes my islands more beautiful to me. It makes the 
 heart warm." 
 
 "Ah, 3-011 love your islands well!" Staunton gave 
 him a gentle look of comprehension. 
 
 "I love them so well that I cannot imagine nryself
 
 GUENN. 149 
 
 living elsewhere. It is a rough life, but dear to me. I 
 know every soul through and through. I know every 
 boat." 
 
 "A man like you ought to study," remarked the 
 professor suavely. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur," and Thymert flushed to his 
 temples ; "I could never be a scholar. I have no gifts. 
 I am best suited to my islands. Only an unforeseen 
 calamity could force me to leave them." 
 
 " But St. Kadoc," said Staunton with kindry tact, 
 " are we not to hear about him? " 
 
 "Ah, yes, St. Kadoc," Thymert replied cordially. 
 " He lived upon an island off the coast of Morbihan, in 
 the fifth century. When his friends came to breakfast 
 I suppose he used to give them hydromel to drink," 
 smiling and filling the glasses with the bishop s wine. 
 " He was a son of a Cambrian chief. He loved his 
 sword, his harp, and his book. At fifteen he was already 
 a warrior. But a disciple of St. Patrick taught him to 
 love his harp and his book better than his sword. How 
 ever, as far as I know, he never forgot the use of that. 
 Brittany has had valiant saints. They could always 
 fight, you know. The Saxons drove him and his friends 
 over here to Armorica. The Saxon race, begging your 
 pardon, gentlemen, but the old chronicle says so, 
 was accursed of God and man." 
 
 "We all know it," remarked Hamor with an air of 
 conviction. " We have always been a very bad lot. 
 But don t look at me alone. Staunton is Saxon, too." 
 
 "Well," continued Thymert, " St. Kadoc did much 
 good over here. He taught his people how to improve 
 their lands, their flocks and herds ; how to sing and how 
 to fight, if fight they must ; but best of all he loved 
 peace. His island was fertile and blooming, not sterile
 
 150 GUENN. 
 
 like my poor little Loch. One day the holy man and 
 his friend St. Gilclas were examining a bridge Kadoc 
 had built from his island to the mainland. You know 
 the legend of the bridge, I am sure. It is not the ex 
 clusive possession of Bretagne. It was a troublesome 
 bridge, for whatever the good Christians accomplished 
 by day the devil destroyed by night. It is a way the 
 devil has. Finally, St. Kadoc made a treaty with him, 
 promising him, if he would let the bridge stand, the first 
 living tiling that should traverse it after completion. 
 When the day came for the consecration of the bridge, 
 and the banners were flying and the procession chant 
 ing, there was the devil waiting in great glee to claim 
 his own. But St. Kadoc sent a dog over as tribute, and 
 then fell back laughing against a rock, which bears his 
 impression to this da}-." 
 
 It would seem that the devil had grown sharper 
 since the fifth century," remarked the professor. "He 
 is less credulous in these da} s." 
 
 The cure, with a good-humored smile, went on : "So 
 St. Kadoc and St. Gildas stood on the bridge looking 
 at the earth and sky and the sea with its islands, and 
 talking piously of the bliss of the elect. Now Kadoc 
 carried his Virgil under his arm. Taking the beloved 
 book in his hand, he burst into tears. Gildas asked him 
 wh}- he wept, and Kadoc replied : I weep at the thought 
 that this sweet singer is perhaps in torment ! Per 
 haps ! cried Gildas with great severity. Gildas was a 
 different kind of a saint, 3-011 see," explained Thymert 
 with a mischievous look. " He was a reformed Druid." 
 
 "Ah, yes, an iron-clad saint. We all know that 
 kind," Ilatnor commented lightly. 
 
 " Perhaps, indeed ! There is no doubt about it 
 whatever. He is damned for good and all, said Gildas."
 
 GUENN. 151 
 
 "With huge satisfaction, no doubt," remarked the 
 professor. 
 
 "Well, yes, with considerable satisfaction, I pre 
 sume," Thymert admitted, smiling, " being a converted 
 Druid, you know. Your Virgil is burning in un 
 quenchable fires. Do you then imagine that our Lord 
 has a special system of justice for story-tellers? Gildas 
 demanded sternly." 
 
 " Not a bad idea, that," and Ilamor smiled approv 
 ingly, " plenary indulgence to poets and painters." 
 
 Kadoc was a good fighter, but he was gentle 
 with his friends. Making no response, he stood look 
 ing sadly at his book feeling very uncomfortable." 
 
 "It s clear enough," said Douglas, "Gildas bullied 
 him." 
 
 " Suddenby a gust of wind swept over the bridge 
 and blew the book into the water." 
 
 " It is not difficult to imagine St. Gildas s tone in 
 regard to this misfortune," the professor said dryly, 
 saints being apt to choose a peculiar mode of consola 
 tion when their friends are in trouble." 
 
 " Yes, he no doubt grew uncommonly self-righteous 
 and didactic," Staunton added. 
 
 "The fact is, Kadoc ought to have taunted the old 
 heathen with his disgraceful past," drawled Douglas, 
 " and hit him with the skulls of his victims." 
 
 " Gildas did avail himself of this occasion to in 
 terpret the loss of the book as a judgment of heaven 
 against Virgil, if not to some extent against Kadoc 
 himself," Thymert continued. "But Kadoc, in much 
 distress, retreated to his cell, saying to himself: I will 
 neither eat nor drink until I receive some sign from 
 heaven to teach me what God does with the souls of 
 men who sing on earth like angels in heaven. Sighing,
 
 152 GUENN. 
 
 he fell asleep, and through his troubled dreams he 
 heard a far-off silver voice which murmured : " Pray 
 for my soul, pray for my soul, that I may sing in 
 heaven as I once sang on earth. 
 
 " The next morning a fisherman brought St. 
 Kadoc a salmon ; and when the fish was opened, there 
 unharmed lay the Virgil which wind and sea had car 
 ried away. So the gentle saint who never condemned 
 a soul, who never scorned a sinner, who had peace on 
 his lips and pity in his heart, was comforted, being 
 convinced through this sign of the blessed resurrection 
 that the sweet singer would be finally saved, St. Gildas 
 to the contrary notwithstanding. And from that time 
 on, St. Kadoc remembered Virgil in his pra} ers." 
 
 "And what was the end of this exceptionally amiable, 
 liberal, and enlightened man?" asked the professor. 
 
 " After he had cultivated his isle and taught his 
 people, he returned to England, and had a parish in 
 what you now call Northampton. One day he was cele 
 brating mass when a troop of terrified men, women, 
 and children rushed into the church, followed by a band 
 of mounted Saxons. In the tumult, Kadoc continued 
 his office with a calm voice. No one had the courage 
 to respond. He blessed the elements. He turned 
 towards his flock. Glory to God in the Highest, 
 at this moment a Saxon chief urged his horse at full 
 gallop up to the chancel and with his lance pierced 
 Kadoc s brave heart, and upon earth peace, good-will 
 to men, he continued firmly, then fell dead before the 
 altar. That was our Saint Kadoc," said Thymert 
 gently. " He was right. Peace is best, peace and 
 good-will." 
 
 " Let us drink his health," liainor said. " And may 
 he have met Virgil face to face in the everlasting 
 kingdom."
 
 GUENN. 153 
 
 Some banter between the three painters followed, 
 Staunton admitting that there was much of the accursed 
 Saxon in him, Douglas claiming on account of some 
 Welsh blood a close relationship with the ancient 
 Bretons, Druids, saints and all, and expressing himself 
 with much animosity towards his friend. " You know 
 we understand the Welsh dialect," the cure said, "and 
 the Welsh understand us." 
 
 The professor advanced various historical and philo 
 logical facts of interest, and the conversation ran pleas 
 antly on about Brittany and the Bretons, until the 
 cure was called to the porch to see an old fisherman 
 who needed advice. He turned on the threshold and 
 looked back, his dark eyes brilliant and soft, his smile 
 eloquent. 
 
 The professor, lighting a cigar, said to Staunton : 
 " You have here much beauty and variety of landscape, 
 but do you artists find the Breton women beautiful? 
 Because, to my worldly e} T es, they are ugly enough for 
 the most part." 
 
 "We find beaut3 r of color, feature, and simplicity 
 among the very young, and the beauty of ugliness 
 among the very old. Grace we find seldom. The 
 girls here are very precocious physically, and age 
 young." 
 
 " But there s a bit of leaven which leavens the whole 
 Cornouaille lump," Hamor began with enthusiasm. 
 " You have not seen my little Plouvenec Venus?" 
 
 " Well, no, to my knowledge I have never seen a 
 Venus in coiffe and sabots. To speak plainly, it is 
 not the kind of Venus that I prefer. But do you all 
 share Monsieur Hamor s enthusiasm?" asked the pro 
 fessor with his amiable sceptical smile. 
 
 "I think we do, more or less," replied Staunton.
 
 154 GUENN. 
 
 " She is certainly a lovely little thing, but unattainable 
 as yet." 
 
 " Ah, you have not painted her?" 
 
 "Not yet, but I m going to paint Guenn Eodellec 
 before I m a month older. I swear it by St. Kadoc, 
 or rather by St. Gildas, the inflexible," Hamor de 
 clared resolutely. " I am not ungenerous," he went 
 on, smiling. " I allow the girl time to enjoy her 
 caprices, you understand. But I ve waited about long 
 enough." 
 
 u What is she then?" 
 
 " Oh, a wild little fisher-girl, works in the usine as 
 they all do bargains for sardines at night when the 
 boats come in, hand and glove with all the sailors, holds 
 her own with all the old fish-wives, is known for miles 
 around Plouvenec, runs about freely at midnight as 
 at noon and flings a not too fine jest at everybody. A 
 clever little head, I fancy, and an immense amount of 
 life and fire. Her father is a drunken brute. Her 
 other family associations I know nothing about except 
 that she has a small hump-backed brother, who looks 
 styer than the deuce. But the girl has the savage 
 grace of a wild animal, and an intense kind of beauty I 
 have never before met with. There is something trop 
 ical about her, and infinitely fresh. I doubt if she s 
 wholly Breton. She must be southern." 
 
 " Indeed. You surprise me." 
 
 " For my part, I think her muscular development 
 even more astonishing than her beaut} T ," Douglas 
 remarked in his slow droll wa} r . " She is so light and 
 swift, I always stand still to see her go by, and hold 
 nry breath." 
 
 " I assure you, monsieur," said Ilamor, warming with 
 his subject, slowly sipping his wine and looking at the
 
 GUENN. 155 
 
 professor in a convincing manner, "that this rude 
 little Bretonne not only has superb color, an abundance 
 of vivacity, the richness and warmth of the south, but 
 she is a model of pure outline. I saw her sculling a 
 boat the other da}*. I watched every line and move 
 ment. The girl would be faultless in marble," Hamor 
 asserted solemnly and respectfully, as another man 
 might state a religious belief. 
 
 "Ma foi," said the professor blandly, holding his 
 glass up to the light and looking at it with one half- 
 closed twinkling eye, " here s a chance for a specula 
 tion. If half what 3*011 say is true, she would make 
 her fortune at the hippodrome. The} would pay high 
 for such a combination of beauty, freshness, and muscle. 
 They don t find it every day, you know. And then, 
 apres," he smiled and blew an airy kiss from the tips 
 of his fingers into an indefinite future. 
 
 There was an involuntary movement at the table. 
 Even Douglas straightened himself. The painters had 
 been talking in the careless fashion of the atelier. 
 Beauty and all its sacred lines, nature in her truth, 
 belonged to them. They were by no means accustomed 
 to drape their meaning. But here was something 
 repulsive and foreign to their taste. After a pause, 
 unpleasant to the whole circle, Hamor began very 
 gravely : 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur, 3*011 misunderstand completely. 
 The girl is rough and wild, but perfectly good. If 
 anything that I have said has led you to think otherwise, 
 I can only sa}* I am sorry." 
 
 The professor smiled amiably, raising his eyebrows. 
 " But she is to become a model? " 
 
 "It is only fair to explain," said Staunton, "that 
 the girls whom we employ here as models are a very
 
 156 GUENN. 
 
 honest set. They are hard-working and coarse. They 
 sometimes discuss matters in onr presence that are, I 
 must say, as a rule, ignored in drawing-rooms. They 
 use expressions that are vulgar, often profane. They 
 know no better. But they would resent a liberty with 
 quite as much indignation as other girls, no better 
 perhaps, but whom circumstances have educated to be 
 less free of speech." 
 
 " It is a very different kind of work 3*011 see, down 
 here in the country," began Douglas, " from our work 
 in Paris. You are thinking, no doubt, of the regular 
 Paris models." 
 
 "You painters are, nevertheless, dangerous young 
 men," laughed the professor. 
 
 I have never heard of but one girl down here who 
 has had an3 r trouble on account of us painters," replied 
 Hamor hotly. "There was an Yvonne who drowned 
 herself. I am not prepared now to discuss the question 
 whether it was or was not a nobler fate to catch a dim 
 glimpse of a higher world, to be useful in a great art- 
 motive, to suffer and die of grief and desperation when 
 her fine lover left her, than if she had never seen and 
 known him, and had simply married a man of her kind 
 and become a household drudge, to be sworn at and 
 beaten, to grow old and stolid and ugly before her time." 
 
 " Ah, Hamor," protested Staunton, frowning slightly-, 
 don t air that abominable sophistry just now 
 
 " I sa} T that I don t propose to discuss the question, 
 whatever 1113- private opinion ma}* be," continued Hamor 
 in the same tone. " Still, when I see girls posing as 
 innocently as if they were playing dolls, when they 
 climb fences and ladders like bo3*s, and run about irn* 
 atelier like so man}* kittens, I feel inclined to present, 
 the case to }*ou as it actually is."
 
 GUENN. 157 
 
 The professor shrugged his shoulders, smiling with 
 polite incredulity. 
 
 "Your statements, messieurs, do honor to your 
 amiable sentiments, as well as to your faith in human 
 nature, but are, I fear, incorrect. The statistics show 
 that the morality of the fishing population of Brittany 
 at best a half-civilized, lamentably ignorant, and 
 brutal class is " 
 
 lie stopped short. The imperious gesture of Tlry- 
 mert s uplifted arm arrested his fluent discourse. Pale 
 with the wrath of a strong man, lofty as a rebuking 
 angel, the priest stood motionless on the threshold, 
 then with one stride came forward. The 3 oung men 
 instinctively rose. No one spoke. Thymert was strug 
 gling to control himself. At length he began, his deep 
 voice vibrating with passion : 
 
 "Pray do not continue, monsieur, or 3-011 will force 
 me to be guilty of a rudeness under my own roof, it 
 may be of a sin almost within the walls of the chapel. 
 I should be sorry to tell you that your statistics lie! 
 There, I have said it ! Who m ikes your statistics? Is 
 it one of us ? Is it a Breton ? Do the}- who know their 
 land slander the peasants? They honor them. They 
 revere the traditions, the ancient songs and legends of 
 a noble race. Read our brave history. What land has 
 produced heroes that fought more valiantly, died more 
 nobly, than our Breton seigneurs, or a folk more faithful 
 to its lords? " 
 
 " Permit me, monsieur le cure, or " correcting 
 himself with careful politeness " monsieur le recteur, 
 as I observe you say in Bretagne," interposed the pro 
 fessor, " I was not alluding to 3 our histoiy, to 3 T our 
 past, of which every Frenchman must be proud. I was 
 merel}- mentioning a deplorable fact in regard to the 
 coast population "
 
 158 GUENN. 
 
 Thymert interrupted him impetuously: "Yes, 3-011 
 were talking of statistics, and I tell you we are a peo 
 ple apart. Strangers do not know us ; strangers can 
 not reach us : we are defiant ; we are reserved ; we are 
 stubborn ; we are Bretons, and all is said. Does your 
 man who prepares the statistics bear our hardships, 
 brave our perils, wrestle with the land for its fruits, 
 defy the sea and its storms, suffer our poverty, live and 
 die with us ? " 
 
 No one spoke. The priest resumed solemnly : "As 
 for our young girls," he paused, " the dear Christ 
 bless them," he said simpby, his arms outstretched in 
 infinite benediction. "As for the 3 oung girl who has 
 been }*our chief theme," his voice grew tender, his 
 face full of a great pity, " gentlemen, ni}* guests, she 
 is a motherless child ; she is of my own blood." 
 
 lie bowed his head, breathing deeply. 
 
 Ilamor s face expressed unfeigned solicitude. " Can 
 you forgive me?" he began very rapidly ; " I alone am 
 to blame. I introduced this unfortunate topic. My 
 careless tongue continued it when the others had fin 
 ished. I meant no harm, to }*ou, to her, to an} body. 
 I never listen to my own words ; I do not know half the 
 time what 1 say ; I talk to talk ; I had no idea that she 
 was anything to you. I simply cannot express my 
 regret for my awkwardness." 
 
 Thymert raised his dark, fervent eyes and looked 
 earnestly at the painter. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said slowly, "she is much to me; 
 she is nvy niece 
 
 " Your niece?" 
 
 " My niece a la mode de Bretagne. Elsewhere we are 
 cousins. In Brittany one respects one s family. Mon 
 sieur, how should you feel, what should you do, if I
 
 GUENN. 159 
 
 should come to your land, into jour home, and speak 
 of 3 our sister as you have spoken of mine ? For she is 
 as dear as a sister to me." 
 
 His face darkened with the remembrance of certain 
 expressions he had heard. 
 
 " You would say, would 3*011 not, that I was a half- 
 civilized, ignorant Breton? You would knock me down 
 shoot me ? Tell me, monsieur, what do the men of 
 3 our country do when men insult their sisters?" 
 
 Ilamor stood speechless before him. What was there 
 to sa}" here ? 
 
 "I heard your offence," the priest said with bitter 
 ness ; then, with a supreme effort, " I also heard your 
 defence. For that I thank you. I believe 3*ou, mon 
 sieur, when 3"ou tell me that you profoundly regret your 
 own words." He slowly took Hamor s proffered hand. 
 
 " We all do," Staunton interposed gently ; "we could 
 not, of course, know that the topic would be so fatally 
 personal, but it was in ver} bad taste, at best. I wish 
 you would believe how sorry we are." 
 
 Tlrymert looked at him. " You are kind," he said. 
 He liked the deference of Staunton s manner, and the 
 steady glance of his eyes. "I thank you. Let it 
 pass, messieurs," as the others would have spoken, 
 "I am sure you will have no desire to make an} r farther 
 allusion to a }"oung girl who in her innocent life has 
 done nothing which merits the attention she has re 
 ceived to-day from six men. It is enough, gentlemen, 
 let it pass. It may be we have all something to pardon. 
 I, too, was hasty. I am not used to the world. I have 
 hot blood. Pray forget it. Excuse me, I will return 
 directly," and he walked rapidly across the corridor and 
 closed the door of his sleeping-room. 
 
 " Is that door shut?" said the irrepressible professor
 
 160 GUENN. 
 
 with a twinkle in his merry e}*es. "Then let me say 
 that this is all very fine, admirable, but it doesn t 
 hold water. It is the most superb incoherence I ever 
 heard. He reasons like a woman. Can a man refute a 
 statement he has not had the patience to hear? As for 
 the statistics, they are most abty prepared. I have 
 only to refer you to " 
 
 Stauntoii frowned, and Hamor interrupted impa- 
 tientty : 
 
 " Surety we have done enough harm without contin 
 uing this subject. We have succeeded in insulting a 
 man in his own house, and a man whose robe does not 
 permit him to demand satisfaction." 
 
 "Very good," replied the professor amicably, "I 
 merety wished to mention that the statistics ): 
 
 " Drown the statistics ! " Douglas exclaimed bluntty. 
 
 " Willingty," returned the Frenchman, laughing; 
 "but I presume I may be permitted to remark that 
 your Hero of Nine Isles is a great child." 
 
 " I have never seen a man whom I admire so much," 
 Staunton said softty. 
 
 "What a pose! Great heavens, what a pose!" 
 exclaimed Hamor, his head thrown back, his eyes half 
 closed, still seeing the priest in the doorway. " There 
 is something of the Othello in him. If 1 could see him 
 roused to his highest pitch of passionate fury ! " lie 
 took out his sketch-book, and made a few nervous 
 strokes representing a pair of powerful shoulders, head 
 thrown haughtily back, and an uplifted, warning arm. 
 
 Thymert now returned and made evident efforts to 
 restore the friendly tone which was lost. But his man 
 ner was abrupt and absent. It reminded Hamor of 
 their first interview. " We have sorely wounded this 
 gentle savage," he reflected, " how shall I ever regain
 
 GUENN. 161 
 
 his confidence ? " No one seemed able to throw off the 
 constraint which oppressed him. 
 
 After a somewhat prolonged pause the professor sud 
 denly remarked, smiling amiably at them all: "You 
 would be surprised to know what happened to me this 
 morning. Fancy it. I looked in at the vivier on my 
 way to the qua} , and I found that our stupid lout of a 
 servant had burned my manuscript upon which I ve 
 been working steadily three months. I have no notes. 
 Everything was worked out mathematically, step by 
 step. It is a total loss, and I must leave Plouvenec in 
 two days." 
 
 " What did you do to him?" asked Douglas. 
 
 The professor shrugged his shoulders. "I would 
 have vivisected him, if it would have restored my 
 manuscript, monsieur." 
 
 The silent Alsatian spoke: "He smiled as he is 
 smiling now and told the bo}~ to close the vivier for 
 the day, and if he valued his life always to remain in 
 the service of a philosopher." 
 
 "And you have been so light-hearted all day, mon 
 sieur," Staunton said kindly. "You have great 
 patience." 
 
 Que voulez-vous ? " returned the Frenchman with 
 his mocking little stare. " One must have one virtue." 
 
 Thymert looked up strangely: "I thank you, mon 
 sieur, that you have told me that. I am sorry for your 
 great loss. But I shall be glad to remember it." 
 
 " Tiens!" said the professor, smiling. 
 
 Again the conversation languished. At the pleasant 
 table, instead of gentle St. Kadoc who with his Virgil 
 under his arm seemed to have glided in and taken his 
 place among them, bringing peace and good- will, there 
 was now a little unwelcome angry figure that their idle 
 
 11
 
 162 GUENN. 
 
 words had conjured up, and that nothing could appease. 
 A frowning beautiful face, in a white coiffe the bold 
 pure eyes of a young girl, looking resentment at them 
 for daring to bring her there among their men s talk, 
 their cigars and their wine. Scorn and impatience 
 on the young mouth defiance and suspicion in every 
 glance. So she stood before them and would not go. 
 
 Thymert saw her and his heart was sore. To him 
 she raised the lovely eyes he had seen in her innocent 
 face ever since she was born, but in their blue depths 
 he missed the great friendliness, the sweet merriment, 
 the carelessness he knew. The}* followed him with 
 grave inquiry : Why do you let strange men tear me 
 asunder ? Is not my body my own ? " 
 
 "This is what they call art," he thought with a 
 shudder, replying mechanically to his guests. He 
 was glad, and the}* were not sorry, when he could rise 
 and say that he must call his people to vespers. Again 
 he fired his gun ; again the little boats came slowly 
 over from the other islands, bringing the maimed, the 
 halt, and the blind. 
 
 The strangers stood again in the rough chapel, through 
 which cold sea winds blew freely. Staunton found a 
 pathos there, which he had failed to feel in the morning, 
 and Thymert had the eyes of a hunted animal. 
 
 As they were sailing back to Plouvenec? the sailors 
 and the girls sang light songs, Hamor at the helm often 
 sang with them, smiling, sympathetic, and kind. 
 
 Meurice let the sardine-nets trail after the boat. 
 The fish, like a rainbow-colored cloud, swept into them. 
 "It is nothing," said the patron, throwing some rogue 
 with an indifferent air, "a hundred or so. It is the 
 middle of October. In a couple of days they will all 
 be gone. Some years the}- are gone before this."
 
 GUENN. 163 
 
 He drew up the net and shook it. The brilliant pur 
 ple and silver and blue and rosy shining things fell 
 into the bottom of the boat, where a sailor adroitly 
 counted them, marking the tally and handling them 
 lightly. 
 
 " Strange that they appear so suddenly on these 
 coasts in spring, and vanish as suddenly in the fall. 
 Why do they come?" said Hamor as he watched this. 
 
 " To be caught in our nets and packed in our usines, 
 to be sure," answered Meurice, laughing. "We should 
 think it stranger still, if the} did n t come." 
 
 Selina, Selina, c est comm ?a que je t aime," 
 
 sang the girls and the sailors in high spirits, with no 
 embarrassment at the realism of certain parts of the 
 text, looking about and smiling frankly. "Selina, 
 Selina," sang sailors on other boats, catching up the 
 refrain. 
 
 " This has been a memorable day," said Hamor 
 thoughtfully as they approached the Plouvenec shore, 
 and sky and waves were* tinged with the stormy orange 
 sunset. 
 
 " In many ways," was Staunton s quiet answer. 
 
 "Did you hear what Thymert said to me in the 
 chapel just before we left?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I told him I wanted to paint him a picture. He 
 looked at me very strangely and was silent. I thought 
 I understood, and I hastened to tell him that the 
 wish had occurred to me during mass this morning. 
 When he found that I was not offering it in reparation 
 or atonement for my misdeeds, he assented. What 
 would you like? I asked. A Christ for my people, 
 he replied. I have always wanted it. And how?
 
 164 GUENN. 
 
 Blessing the children ? Walking on the sea ? No 
 he said with the same strange look in his eyes. It is 
 easy for us Bretons to bless children, and, with a kind 
 of grim humor we can almost walk upon the sea. 
 But suffering is never eas} T . It is good for us to realize 
 that He suffered. I want a Crucifixion. And make 
 the agony as terrible as you can, he said fiercely. 
 Yes, it is a Crucifixion that we want at the Lannions. 
 I fear I shall have to go to Antwerp, if I hope to 
 make it terrible enough for him," Hamor concluded 
 with a smile. 
 
 Staunton shook his head thoughtfully, and looked far 
 across the yellow bay towards the Nine Islands. The 
 Penfret light was faintly visible.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HE cure of the Lannions felt 
 restless on his isles. He sat 
 in his stuffy, and began a 
 letter to his very reverend 
 bishop. Letter-writing, un 
 der the best auspices, was 
 not one of Thymert s joys. 
 He knotted his forehead like 
 a schoolboy, and leaned over 
 the paper. Through the win 
 dow he could see the little 
 waves dancing in the sunlight, and the amber gleams 
 of the seaweed in transparent depths. Throwing up 
 his hand to shade his eyes, with his habitual movement, 
 he looked across the bay towards the mainland, a 
 long, troubled look ; then moved his chair abruptly, 
 and turned his back upon the invitation of the dancing 
 waves . 
 
 " Monseigneur," he began. The letter had been long 
 dclaj-ed. He had much to say to the bishop, instruc 
 tion and advice to ask, thanks to express. Yet the one 
 distinctly defined thought in the cure s mind was the 
 desire to go over to Plouvenec. Moreover, he did not 
 wish to wait. He wished to go then. 
 
 MONSEIGNEUR, With sentiments of profound reverence per 
 mit the most devoted of your servants to inform you that
 
 166 GUENN. 
 
 MONSEIGNEUR, Deign to accept the expression of my most 
 grateful thanks for your gracious permission that 
 
 Thymert passed his band through his long black hair, 
 flinging it back from his troubled face. It was here at 
 
 O O 
 
 this table that they sat. Only yesterday, and it seemed 
 already long ago. Here was Monsieur Ilamor with his 
 head thrown back, his eyes half closed, smiling and 
 making smoke-rings. Here was the professor opposite, 
 saying with his bland voice what ought to be choked in 
 his throat. And the others had sat here and here and 
 here, the }"oung man with the steady eyes and the 
 kind voice, the one with the great brown beard, the pale 
 one with spectacles. Monsieur Hamor s eyes were not 
 stead}*, no ; but he was amiable. lie was sorry for 
 what had happened. lie wished to paint a picture for 
 the chapel. The cure pushed back the table violently, 
 the table where they had all sat, and left the room 
 where the words had been uttered which were ringing 
 still in his pained cars. He stood in his porch. A 
 strong wind was blowing landwards, and the poor grass 
 on the graves of the drowned sailors was fluttering 
 with a message from the ocean. A cross was down. 
 Thymert went out and made it fast. 
 
 "Brigitte!" he called, standing bareheaded in the 
 graveyard. 
 
 "Monsieur le recteur," answered the old woman, 
 appearing at the kitchen-door. 
 
 " Do we want anything from Plouvenec?" 
 
 "But no, monsieur le recteur knows well that Mon 
 sieur Louis has brought stores enough to last a week, 
 even after the five gentlemen s breakfast, which, as they 
 were pretty young gentlemen with such appetites, it was 
 a pity I was taken by surprise, and had no time to 
 prepare some of my "
 
 GUENN. 167 
 
 He interrupted her garrulous regrets with a wave of 
 his hand. 
 
 " You are sure that we need nothing?" 
 
 " There is buckwheat ; there is mustard ; there is oil ; 
 there is meat ; there is wine, sugar, butter," counting 
 upon her fingers. 
 
 lie stooped to straighten a cross ; then with a stone 
 pounded it down deeper. " I must put up a cross for 
 that last poor fellow. The commandant said he would 
 give him a stone one ; but the others might not like that, 
 when they have only wood." He gave a little smile of 
 protection to the sad little row. 
 
 " Tapers?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 " Enough for the/tVe of Our Lady herself. Ah, yes ; 
 everything is in abundance, and monsieur le recteur 
 ma} rest tranquil, thanks to Monsieur Louis, and may 
 all saints bless him here and hereafter." 
 
 " Amen," said Thymert absently. " Is there brandy? 
 We shall have a storm to-night or to-morrow." 
 
 " Enough for three shipwrecks," returned the old 
 woman cheerfully, ; which Our Lady forbid ; but which, 
 if she does not, heaven rest their souls." 
 
 "Amen," said Thymert mechanically, striding to 
 wards the porch. The letter must wait," he thought. I 
 cannot to-day sit in that room, at that table, and write. 
 The bishop himself would be indulgent if he knew." 
 
 The cure made the tour of his parish. His swift boat 
 ran over to Penfret. There was nothing wanted at the 
 light-house. He appeared at the little fort on Cigognc. 
 Cigogne seemed as full of content as Penfret. He heard 
 onby thanks and blessings. The able-bodied men were 
 out. The aged and infirm had no complaints. The 
 women smiled at him as they sat in the doorways 
 mending nets.
 
 188 GUENN. 
 
 " Has the millennium descended upon my poor isles?" 
 he asked himself as he put back to the Loch. " But 
 God be thanked for the mild weather and the good fish 
 ing. And do I seek a paltry excuse ? Shall I go over 
 to Plouvcnec only because old Jacques wants some snuff 
 or his wife some 3 arn? Wlvy do I hesitate?" He 
 flushed all over his dark young face. " I will go because 
 I wish to go," he threw back his head, because 
 Barba bade me take care of her children. It is little 
 Guenn who needs me? Why can I not work? Why 
 can I not write ? Why is my head a whirlpool ? Some 
 thing is stirring in the air, in the breeze, in the sea, in 
 my heart, that bids me go. Is it not a warning? And 
 from whom come such warnings if not from heaven ? I 
 will go to Guenn. Guenn needs me." 
 
 He called little Erec and set sail for Plouvcnec. 
 
 Some hours later when he arrived at the village, 
 he met sailors on the digue and along the qua} , old 
 acquaintances at every turn, fine fellows too, from whom 
 he gladly received a word of welcome, with whom he 
 would have laughed and chatted a whole free hour, had 
 he not been called elsewhere. They were rough and 
 brown, the sailors. They drank too much and swore 
 and quarrelled. But never had he heard from them in 
 their most violent moments an evil word about an inno 
 cent girl. No, only the smooth-spoken strangers were 
 capable of that infamy. His manner grew more cordial 
 still. The old soutane went swinging along the road, 
 like a triumphal procession. 
 
 Thymert s brown face, warm smile and dark affec 
 tionate eyes looked out from beneath his broad hat, and 
 won souls. Had the magnetism of his presence been 
 less potent, the facts of his life would still have spoken 
 eloquently to the hearts of that rugged sailor-folk.
 
 GUENN. 169 
 
 Personal valor, self-sacrifice, cheerful endurance and 
 unfailing kindness are qualities the rudest of them 
 could appreciate. In Plouvenec courage alone covered 
 a multitude of sins. The sailors, for the most pai t, had 
 the courage and the sins. 
 
 Thymert was a born leader. Had he lived a thousand 
 years before, his fiery imagination, his love of the sea, 
 his daring, would have sent him otf at the head of his 
 flock on voyages in search of fabulous happy isles, and 
 his deeds would have been sung by bards, and sounded 
 in Celtic cloisters for centuries. Or he might have been 
 an old Armorican saint with a stalwart arm and a pious 
 soul fighting with a good will when heaven ordained, 
 against a heathen king- after the battle resuming with 
 ease his holy meditations. 
 
 Where the solemn menhir towers above lonely coun 
 try ways, and long-haired peasants pass under gray 
 skies, and the vague impressions of a remote age float 
 like phantoms in the silent air, one could behold through 
 the long vista of two thousand years this man s strong 
 presence leading white-robed Druid brethren under 
 mighty oaks, offering human sacrifice by the grave of 
 a Celtic chieftain, lifting a stern impassioned face to 
 wards the sun-god, or fighting against the Legions and 
 pushed back step by step towards the sea. 
 
 It would be easy, indeed, to imagine Thymert in an} 7 
 dominant position throughout the whole rich histor}- of 
 Bretagnc, but one could not transplant him. In Brit 
 tany, whether his cause were just or unjust, he would 
 have been sure of a following and of loyalty to the death. 
 A leader, a lover, a hater, a fighter, all unknown to the 
 brave priest, looked out of his flashing e\cs, gave weight 
 and influence to his simplest greeting. When the Plou 
 venec people met him coming along the lanes, his open
 
 170 GUENN. 
 
 breviary in his hand, they did not forget it as when the 
 maire or the judge of the peace went b} r , but spoke of 
 it afterwards at home with a warm feeling about the 
 heart. "I saw monsieur the recteur of the Lannions 
 to-day," they would say, the brightness of his pres 
 ence reflecting a long afterglow. Plouvenee was uncon 
 sciously grateful when Thymert walked its streets. His 
 little world was better and happier that he lived in it, 
 and if the most of them had been called upon to describe 
 an angel of mercy, they would have pictured no white- 
 robed winged being, but only a sunbrowncd priest in 
 an old soutane. 
 
 To-day, for the first time in his life, he found himself 
 studying the well-known people he met. He looked 
 closely, qucstioningly, into their eyes, instead of accept 
 ing Alain and Meurice, as such, without special scrutiny. 
 Then with an expression of relief, a beautiful smile, a 
 clasp of the hand, he would go on. Thank God, these 
 were his Bretons. Yet he asked none of them where 
 Guenn Rodcllec was, as he would have done ou\y yester 
 day, yes, yesterda} , before the strangers came. To- 
 da} r , it seemed to him that he must ask a woman and 
 what woman was so quiet and so wise as mad am e at the 
 Vo3"agcurs ? Gucnn s name had been bandied about 
 among too many men. Not even to his frank sailors, who 
 would risk their lives for her, would he speak of the 
 little girl to-day. 
 
 He found madarne in a small store-room, wiping 
 winter-pears, and rolling them one by one in tissue- 
 paper. He begged her to go on, and would not take 
 the proffered chair, but stood by the table watching the 
 movements of her large, firm hands. Over her work 
 she now and then raised her calm eyes to look at him. 
 He began to walk slowly up and down the little room.
 
 GUENN. 171 
 
 "It is quiet here, madame," he said with a sigh. 
 "Quiet, here at the Voyageurs?" she thought, "and 
 the people coming in and out, and the noisy common 
 and the arrivals." 
 
 " It is because one does not hear the sea, monsieur 
 le recteur," she answered tranquilly. 
 
 " That may be," he said bricfl}*. 
 
 She followed him with slow, wise eyes. 
 
 " The house is full and prosperous, madame?" 
 
 "Yes, -the summer guests are mostly gone, it is 
 true, but there are the artists for the winter, and the 
 business travellers. I am content with the season." 
 
 " The artists for the winter?" he repeated. 
 
 " Some of them." 
 
 " The ones who were at the Lannions yesterday?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur le recteur." 
 
 lie stood by the table and watched her tranquil, clever 
 hands. 
 
 " It is quiet here," the young man said again. 
 
 She only smiled. 
 
 "You find them gentils, those artists?" he asked 
 with a certain irritation in his deep voice. 
 
 " Ah, 3~es, monsieur le recteur. At the Grand, to be 
 sure, there is another kind. But our artists are all gen- 
 tils, diligent, amiable." 
 
 " Yes, they are amiable, but they are strangers," 
 with a frown. 
 
 " Now it is coming," thought madame, smoothing the 
 paper with her soft palms. 
 
 Do you know where Ilerve Rodellec is to-day ? " 
 
 Madame pointed with her thumb towards the quay. 
 The drink-shop with the little glass-door, through which 
 the orange light shone evenings, was vivid in his mem 
 ory ; and the night of the great catch, the crowd, the
 
 172 GUENN. 
 
 noise, Rodellec and Hamor and the little figure push 
 ing past the men. What was it the strangers had said? 
 " Down among the sailors nights?" 
 
 "One cannot do much with him," said madame 
 softly. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But Guenn is a good child." He said nothing. 
 
 She folded and tore her tissue-paper into squares. 
 After a pause, "Do you know where I could find 
 Guenn?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 Madame was careful to turn her large eyes absently 
 away from him as she reflected : " Voyons. It is Mon 
 day ; there is no work in the usine ; she went by with 
 Jeanne and Nannie ; she may be on the shore ; she likes 
 the third beach. I think I would go down to the third 
 beach, monsieur le recteur." 
 
 "Thanks," said Thymert simpry. 
 
 He was not nervous now. He was glad that he had 
 come in to talk with this woman ; there was something 
 safe and tranquil in her ways. 
 
 "You see Guenn every da} , madame?" 
 
 " Almost every day." 
 
 "You know prett} well where she is and what she 
 does ? " 
 
 " I know where everybody is and what everybody 
 does, " without a smile. "It is not difficult at the 
 Voyageurs ; it is easiest of all to know about Guenn." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because the child is so pretty; because one docs 
 not forget her ; because she cannot help being heard 
 and seen ; because she is cleverest at her work, and 
 merriest at her phvy, and sings the sweetest ; because 
 she is more alive than the other girls, monsieur le rec 
 teur, and worth a score of them."
 
 GUENN. 173 
 
 In Thymcrt s eyes sprang a glad and grateful look. 
 At length he said tentatively, " It must be lonely for her 
 at homo." 
 
 Madame smiled. " She is rarely at home, monsieur 
 Ic recteur." 
 
 After a moment, he began awkwardly : " Could }"ou, 
 madame, if she runs about too much would 3^011 
 perhaps have no place near you it is so quiet here." 
 
 "The Voyageurs is not a good place for girls," she 
 answered gently : it is less quiet than you think. Tho 
 strangers spoil girls here. Who is so bold and vain 
 and empty-headed as Marguerite ? Two years ago she 
 was gentille. I keep her for the cafe; she is a good 
 waitress, but she has no heart and no head. She will 
 come to no greater harm. I am here. I must have 
 waitresses, monsieur le recteur, it is evident. But I 
 will not let my niece come here, or Guenu Rodellec. 
 Did } ou imagine they could stand with me and put 
 away fruit all the time ? " This was as much of a joke 
 as Madame ever permitted herself. "They would be 
 near me, as A ou say, but near the strangers too. The 
 strangers arc amiable, but our girls are safest with our 
 people." 
 
 Thymert started and frowned. She watched him 
 gently, then went on, smiling now as a matron may 
 well smile upon an inexperienced boy, with amiable 
 patronage and imperceptible irony, for an instant 
 ignoring the priest, and recognizing only the }"oung 
 man : ; Believe me, monsieur le recteur, a rough night 
 on the ba}* would be quieter for our girls than a dinner 
 at the Voyageurs, where the strangers smile in taking 
 their soup, and ask for wine with a low word over their 
 shoulders, and inquire about our different coiffes and 
 costumes at their coffee. They have soft voices, the
 
 174 GUENN. 
 
 strange young gentlemen. They do no harm according 
 to their ideas. But often I ask myself, Why do they not 
 let our girls alone? Girls are foolish things. The}* do 
 not know that such looks and such tones are not for 
 them. They drink in all they can, and the young gen 
 tlemen, ma foi, the} give all they can of their precious, 
 much-used coin, and if the} barely escape being what 
 they call villains, they go away without a regret. 
 They do harm. They should leave simple girls in their 
 simple ways. But " with a slow upheaving of her 
 massive shoulders, which only frivolity could call a 
 shrug " it is life, monsieur le recteur, it is life." 
 
 Thymert stood thoughtful, silent, anxious, undecided, 
 listening always with a sadly perplexed look on his 
 face. 
 
 "Poor young cure, thought madarne, "we do not 
 see our way clear, and we have too big a heart." 
 
 " Voyons," she began, looking at him with the full 
 power of her imperturbable gaze, "our Plouvenec girls 
 are good girls, and safest with our people. I will not 
 let my niece or Guenn or Jeanne live at the Voyageurs 
 and lose their heads. But I see everything ; I know 
 what goes on. The strangers will go away, sooner or 
 later. Meanwhile, I arn here," concluded madame 
 right royally. 
 
 Thymert felt instinctive confidence in this tower of 
 strength. Still madame had not heard the five men 
 talking together at the Lannions. 
 
 " Good-day, madame," he said in his abrupt way, 
 "I thank you. It is well that I have spoken with 
 you." 
 
 " Good-day, monsieur le recteur," she politely re 
 sponded, "it is always an honor for the Voyageurs 
 when 3 ou come."
 
 GUENN. 175 
 
 He went straight to the third beach. Guenn, Jeanne, 
 and Nannie were perched upon the rocks half-way up 
 the cliff. The tide was ebb ; the air was soft, with no 
 chill in it. October brought golden days for painter, 
 poet, and fisher-folk to those charming coasts. 
 
 A couple of Englishmen, eager for a plunge and un 
 daunted by the stretch of sand which lay between them 
 and the far-off shining water, were striding manfully 
 towards their goal. A hero in striped bathing-trousers 
 looks more humorous than a clown. Jeanne, Guenn, 
 and Nannie, stretched at ease on the rocks, watched 
 the long white legs march over the sands past black reef 
 and eel-grass, and made unflattering comparisons with 
 compasses, devil s darning-needles, windmills, and 
 every object which their mischievous imagination could 
 suggest. 
 
 Guenn, with a vivid cherry-color in her cheeks and 
 a happy light in her eyes, threw herself about in the 
 most nonchalant attitudes, now with one foot under 
 her, now half reclining, suddenly standing erect and 
 on the alert ; but always, through every free movement, 
 the click of the knitting-needles went steadily on, and 
 the swift little hands worked as unconsciously as the 
 breath of her lungs and the blood in her veins. If 
 Breton children are not born knitting, at least their 
 perfect comprehension of every intricate double-stitch 
 is congenital. 
 
 So Guenn knitted, and laughed her careless laugh; 
 while under her meek coiffe an insolence of health, 
 mockery, and daring greeted the world at large. But 
 not Thymert of the Lannions. As he approached, she 
 rose quickly, smiling with pleasure, smiling modestly, 
 as befits a young girl who meets a priest. 
 
 "She won t she will!" cried Nannie shrilly, pull-
 
 176 GUENN. 
 
 ing Jeanne down towards the beach. Guenn looked 
 after the deformed child with infinite indulgence. 
 
 " Who won t?" asked Thymert. 
 
 "She Guenn." 
 
 "Why, Nannie, a fish-hawk can talk more plainly 
 than you. AVon t what? " 
 
 But Nannie, like the oracles of old, never committed 
 himself. 
 
 "Guenn will Guenn won t Guenn will !" he re 
 peated in a high, chanting voice, his pale face gleaming 
 with malice. 
 
 " Is he alwaj s so wise?" asked Thymcrt, laughing a 
 little. 
 
 " About me, yes," Guenn answered with conviction. 
 
 After a brief pause, " I am glad to find 3*011," the 
 young cure said, hesitating; "I came over expressly 
 to talk with you." 
 
 "Now that is kind, monsieur le rccteur," returned 
 Guenn, delighted, looking at him frankly and smil 
 ing. 
 
 Thymert s isolated and austere life presented few op 
 portunities of talking familiarly with women. Brigitte 
 and the brown old crones on the islands he saw often, 
 but, except for the dress and the coiifes, they did not 
 seem unlike the wiry, gaunt fishermen. 
 
 To-da} he came from the strong and calm presence 
 of madame at the Vo3"ageurs, from her soft hands mov 
 ing with gentle regularity, her velvety eyes that turned 
 their slow gaze upon a man and stilled his restlessness 
 like profound sleep after fatigue. And here was this 
 3 oung girl raising her blue 03-03 sweetly to his, all her 
 prett3 T wa3~s unconsciously appealing to him for the pro 
 tection he was unselfishly longing to provide for her, 
 a little thing he had carried in his arms before she
 
 GUENN. 177 
 
 could walk, his dead cousin s girl. And they dared 
 in their smooth coarseness call her bold and wild and 
 rough ; they even dared, in their veneered brutality of 
 word and thought, to pull away the garments from her 
 tender form and leave her exposed to their curious gaze. 
 His heart beat fast ; his face flushed ; he was moved to 
 his depths by anger and pit} . lie passed his hand ner 
 vously through his long hair and turned his eyes away 
 from the little hands diligently knitting, the honest face 
 smiling in his. 
 
 Wild? Yes, as a little bird is wild, or a fawn. But 
 who was so bright and brave as Guenn? What girl 
 answered him so intelligently, so modestly ? Not even 
 the maire s daughter, who had been to school in Quim- 
 per. With a new thought he suddenly looked again at 
 the girl. Quimper? How would that do? Why not? 
 
 "She won t!" shrieked Nannie from a rock below 
 them. 
 
 Guenn laughed. She had waited respectfully for 
 monsieur le recteur to speak again ; but monsieur le 
 recteur seemed to have nothing to say after all. Now 
 she began frankly, with a little explanatory nod, " It s 
 one of Nannie s days." 
 
 "Ah?" 
 
 " Yes ; sometimes I think his soul flies on before him 
 to sp} out what is coming. Do souls have wings, 
 monsieur le recteur? Now there are revenants ; every 
 body has seen revenants. What I want to know is, can 
 souls go on before with a great leap. I should think 
 so, since they can come back after death." 
 
 Thymert knew that his own soul was unquiet enough 
 in these days ; that it had been, indeed, since that night 
 on the qua} , he now realized. 
 
 Why, he knew not ; but what Guenu said might be 
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 180 GUENN. 
 
 He leaned his head on his hand, and did not lift his 
 eyes. With abrupt awkwardness he said : 
 
 " How would you like to go to school at Quimper?" 
 
 Guenn s little brown hands lay still in her lap. Her 
 e} es grew large with surprise. 
 
 Me ? At school like the demoiselles ? But no, mon 
 sieur le recteur ! I should not like that at all," she 
 exclaimed with decision. 
 
 " It is a very good place for girls," said the j oung 
 man impressively. " The} learn how to walk and sit, 
 how to embroider. They pace up and down the 
 sunn} T quadrangle. They play duets on the piano. Then 
 there are the sisters." 
 
 Guenn s cheeks grew crimson. The wind was blow 
 ing the little rings of chestnut hair back against her 
 coiffe. There was something supernaturally rapid in 
 the click of her needles. 
 
 "Monsieur le recteur," she said, raising her long 
 lashes and sitting very erect, " perhaps } ou do not re 
 member that I left school at twelve. Can I not walk 
 and sit without going to Quimper?" 
 
 At the moment one knee was flung over the other 
 in an independent, if not a revolutionary, manner, and 
 one sabot was swinging excitedly. " Surely a great girl 
 does not learn to walk like a baby ! " she exclaimed 
 hotly. " I can not only walk, I can run ; I can run 
 as fast as Alain. As to embroidery, we can embroider 
 at Plouvenec," she added loyally. " If I do not learn, 
 it is because I am too busy for such a bagatelle." 
 
 Her manner was as lofty as if she had said her devo 
 tion to philology excluded any attention to waltzing or 
 lawn tennis. 
 
 Thymert was an ardent young Breton, and this was a 
 child he used to carry in his arms. Beneath his priestly
 
 GUENN. 181 
 
 robe his heart was full of warmth and pity. He was sur 
 prised that he had hurt her. " My poor little Guenn ! " 
 he exclaimed with tender indulgence. 
 
 "All right," said Guenn, tossing her head noncha 
 lant!}-, implying b} T this seemingly irrelevant remark her 
 willingness to forgive and forget. 
 
 It was only I thought 3~ou might like to be with 
 other girls, other women," he went on cautiously. " You 
 arc always down among the men, or the women who are 
 more careless than the men." What was it the stran 
 ger had said "hand and glove with the sailors, holds 
 her own with the fish-wives ? " Well, what harm was 
 there in that? None, indeed, if Guenn were not beauti 
 ful, and the strangers had not greedy e} r es. " If 3-011 had 
 only liked the idea," he said with timid regret, " I would 
 have managed it in some way. I don t exactly know 
 how. It is dear, what the} ask for the demoiselles. But 
 if 3 ou would have liked it, Guenn," he looked wistfully 
 at her. 
 
 " Monsieur le recteur," smiling saucil}* in his face, 
 " why should I try to be a demoiselle, and pace up and 
 down in a quadrangle? Would you like it yourself? 
 Would 3 ou like to learn to walk like a great bab3 ? 
 Bah ! neither would I. And Nannie ; what would Nan 
 nie do among the demoiselles ? Just answer me that ! " 
 
 " I could take care of Nannie." 
 
 "He could take care of Nannie; ah, ah!" cried 
 Nannie himself from above. 
 
 Thymert started with some impatience. 
 
 "Don t mind; it s onh r Nannie," pleaded Guenn s 
 eyes. 
 
 And what would the3~ do without me here ? " she 
 began eagerly. " Who would run so quickly at a word 
 from Monsieur Morot? Who would buy his sardines
 
 182 GUENN. 
 
 as well as me, and make as good bargains for him from 
 the end of the digue, when the last boats come stealing 
 in, and the air is all black and soft? Who would work 
 the fastest for him all night long after a great catch? 
 Who would tell such jokes that nobocty could be sleepj- ? 
 Who would make it lively on the common, and sing the 
 loudest on the wall with the women waiting for the 
 boats ? Who would be everywhere all through the vil 
 lage, to do the odd jobs so fast, so well known as me? 
 Who ? " she cried triumphantly. 
 
 At this moment she strongly resembled her father, 
 but in her innocent boastfulness the cure found nothing 
 repulsive. "Life and fire," the stranger had said; 
 was this what was meant ? Could he never forget those 
 words? Must he always now, in pain and confusion of 
 spirit, be applying to her another man s measurement? 
 
 " My poor little Guenn ! " said the cure. He wished 
 he were an old graybeard. He wished he were an aged 
 saint who could extend benign protection towards this 
 hot-hearted child, and teach her to be calm and wise as 
 she was lovely and good. He almost wished he were 
 a woman. " My poor little Guenn," he repeated. 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 "And if } r ou should die to-morrow? And do 3*011 
 not know they can always fill our place, yours and 
 mine, child ; mine and yours. If places could not 
 be filled, the world could not go on. The world fills 
 every place, the dearest, the best, the most precious, 
 just as the tide creeps up and covers the little 
 holes Jeanne and Nannie are digging in the sand down 
 there." 
 
 " But that is cruel," she said slowly. 
 
 " It is another mysteiy," replied the priest. 
 
 Her eyelids drooped in sorrowful surprise. "And
 
 GUENN. 183 
 
 nobody would care if I should go away if I should 
 die?" 
 
 " I did not say that, Guenn." 
 
 " Monsieur le recteur, don t make me go to Quim- 
 per," cried the honest 3 ouiig voice; "don t make me 
 go away ; for, if they do not care for me, I care for 
 them ; if they would not miss me, I should miss them. 
 Ah, I should miss my Plouvenec ! I should miss the 
 red sails on the bay, and the hoarse voices on the wind 
 at night, and the boats coming in, and the lights along 
 the digue, and my brave sailor-boj^s, - the}- are so 
 good to me, all of them ! and I should miss going 
 to the river, and all the women, Mother Quaper, and 
 Jeanne good little Jeanne ! and Monsieur Morot 
 with his voice in his beard, and the lanes between the 
 fosses and the meadows, and the sunshine on the great 
 white fields of buckwheat like warm snow, and the 
 genet, and the rocks, and the heather. Oh, don t 
 send me to Quimper, to walk up and down with still, 
 black sisters beside the great cathedral ! Would 3-011 
 like to go away from the sea and the boats and the flame 
 inthephare? Could you breathe ? Could you live?" 
 
 " No," said Thymert positively. 
 
 " Well, then," remarked Guenn conclusive!} . 
 
 " But I was only suggesting it, Guenn. Who would 
 force you to go? Not I, indeed." 
 
 " I should die without Nannie. I should die without 
 the sea. But I will do anything }-ou ask of me," yield 
 ing, womanlike, now that the danger was over. 
 
 "I ask nothing of you; I think myself you would 
 pine in a cage. You arc not much like the demoiselles, 
 Guenn," he sighed. 
 
 " No : I am not like the demoiselles," ste said com 
 placently, stretching her feet out freely and tossing
 
 184 GUENN. 
 
 her head. " And now," she went on confidentially and 
 somewhat dictatorially, almost as if she were talking to 
 Jeanne, " why did } T ou want to send me off to stupid 
 Quimper ? " 
 
 He hesitated. " I have seen you running about all 
 these years," slowly choosing his words ; "I have not 
 realized till lately that you were more than a child." 
 
 She looked curiously at him. Child, indeed, to the 
 fastest workwoman in the Morot usine ! Had he been 
 any one else she would have interrupted him with a 
 bold joke. 
 
 " I promised her to do my best for you." 
 
 Guenn s face softened instantly. " And that you 
 have alwa3"s done, monsieur le recteur," she said with 
 an impulse of warm gratitude, seizing his hand and 
 raising it to her lips respectfully, as if he were the gray- 
 haired recteur of Plouvenec. 
 
 Thymert flushed and abruptly moved away. After a 
 moment he continued : " You children are so far awa} r , 
 and I, a priest and a busy man, cannot 
 
 " We children are so far, and he a priest ! " mocked 
 Nannie. His pale face, leaning on his crossed arms, 
 peered above a shelf of rock close behind the cure. 
 Motionless, watchful, his sharp eyes were fixed upon 
 Thymert. Guenn smiled her perfect approval. She was 
 always glad when he came near her. 
 
 "That is precisely what I said, Nannie," the priest 
 spoke authoritatively. " Be quiet, and don t interrupt 
 me, if } ou wish to stay." 
 
 " She won t," returned Nannie derisively. 
 
 Thymert turned his back, and went on : " At best, 
 men don t understand girls. Girls ought to have moth 
 ers. I am always sorry you have no mother, Guenn. 
 You are more alone than other girls."
 
 GUENN. 185 
 
 Guenn looked as if she did not understand. Nannie 
 had crawled to the side. His malicious eyes never 
 moved from the cure s face. 
 
 " Have I done anything that displeases you? " asked 
 the young girl modestly. " Indeed, Monsieur Morot is 
 content with me. He says I work always better and 
 better." 
 
 " No, no, child ! You have done nothing to displease 
 me." This with exquisite tenderness. She looked at 
 him wonderingly. " You are a brave good girl." 
 
 "Runs about freely at midnight as at noon," the 
 stranger had said. He passed his hands nervously 
 through his hair. Ah, how helpless he felt! "But 
 after the work is over, and the day has been long and 
 full of talk and jokes with the women and the men, and 
 you go home that long, lonely way, it is then that I 
 mean." 
 
 "But I like that," said Guenn bright!}-. "If you 
 have fine ears, } ou can hear the grass grow, and the 
 herbs shoot up, and the trees stretch themselves. You 
 can hear them best by the menhir. I suppose because 
 the menhir itself is so still." 
 
 "But afterwards, at home, if some one were waiting 
 for you there?" persisted the priest. 
 
 " Oh, when I get home I am too tired and sleepy to 
 think," laughed Guenn. " I just tumble into bed as fast 
 as I can. Bed is the best place when you ve been on 
 your legs all day." 
 
 " Yet often I have stood in the chapel porch at night," 
 he continued with great simplicity, " and looked at the 
 bay lying out under the stars, and our pliare shining out 
 and meeting the light of the Plouvenec phare, and I 
 have felt sorry that there was no one waiting for you." 
 
 " Comment? " said Guenn in innocent surprise.
 
 186 GUENN. 
 
 " Our men take care of our fisher-girls. The jokes 
 with the boys and the rough talk do no harm. But 
 something new and strange might happen to you. 
 Then if somebody were waiting at home, it would 
 be better, don t you think so, Guenn?" tremulously. 
 "You are so little and young," he said awkwardly. 
 " It is a pity there is no woman near 3 T ou," thinking of 
 madame at the Voyageurs, her calmness, her wise eyes. 
 
 "Women!" remarked Guenn laconical!} , with a 
 scornful remembrance of Mother Nives and the washing 
 conclave, " women, indeed ! " 
 
 " But that is why I wanted to send you to the nuns." 
 
 Guenn lifted her pretty shoulders, as if she were 
 shaking off the Cathedral of Quimper. "As if any 
 body needed to take care of me ! As if I were a silly 
 demoiselle ! Have no fear for me," she nodded reas 
 suringly ; "I can look out for mj-self as well as any 
 girl in Plouvenec, or any gars either, for that matter. 
 But you are good, and I know what 3-011 mean about 
 nights. Sometimes I have thought myself how it 
 would have been if she had lived, I remember her 
 face, 3"ou know, how it would be to have somebody 
 there to tell me I was an idle, useless thing, not worth 
 my salt, looking all the time as if she did n t mean it. 
 That s what Jeanne s mother docs." 
 
 " Ah, then if an}-thing troubled you, you could go to 
 Jeanne s mother," Tin-inert said with eagerness, as if he 
 had found at least the clew to the lab^-rinth. 
 
 "Why not?" indifferently. "She s good-natured, 
 but they live miles awa\- from me, and nothing ever docs 
 trouble me, monsieur le recteur." 
 
 " You like madame at the Voyageurs? " abruptly. 
 
 " Wiry, yes, of course. She made a tisane forme 
 the other day. I like to bring her her fish. Of course
 
 GUENN. 187 
 
 I like madamc ! Everybody does. And Mother Qua- 
 per," continued Guenn reflectively. "She s a jolly, 
 good old soul. But perhaps the} are none of them the 
 kind you mean?" she said interrogatively, "not the 
 kind that wait for you nights, and let you talk to them 
 about what has happened ? " 
 
 " No," replied Thymert slowly, " they are not exactly 
 the kind I mean, perhaps not even madarne at the 
 Voyageurs." 
 
 " It will be nine years in May since she died," said 
 Guenn gravely. 
 
 " Nine years." 
 
 " And you were only stud3 ing then, and I called you 
 mon oncle Gabriel." 
 
 " Yes, you called me uncle then." 
 
 "And do you remember the Pardon at Foucsnant? 
 I was naughty, and cried. You lifted me up and carried 
 me on your shoulder. You gave me a mirliton." 
 
 " You were tired. You were so little, and had walked 
 so far. You were not naughty ; }-ou were only un 
 happy." lie had been always blind to Guenn s naughti 
 ness, early and late. " But do you remember all that? 
 Wiry, you could not have been more than four years 
 old; and I was a great l>oy of fourteen, a strong 
 fellow, alread} like a man. 
 
 " I remember it well ; there are only a few things I 
 remember better," her face darkened. "But that 
 day at Fouesnant ! I can see the procession with the 
 crosses and the banners, I can almost hear the chanting." 
 
 " I too," said Nannie solemnly, " I remember it." 
 
 " Why, you were not born," cried Guenn with peals 
 of rich laughter. 
 
 " I remember," persisted Nannie. "You said, Merci, 
 mon oncle. lie carried you above the crowd."
 
 188 GUENN. 
 
 Guenn shrugged her shoulders in comical resignation. 
 
 "Nannie," said the cure, amused, "you remember 
 more than there ever was. How would } T OU like to 
 come over to the Lannions and live with me and help 
 Erec? We are not so wise as you over there ; it might 
 do you good." 
 
 But Nannie was already scrambling resentfully 
 down the rocks. He objected to laughter directed 
 against himself; he liked to be treated as something 
 supernatural and incomprehensible. Thymcrt s matter- 
 of-fact good-humor offended him. 
 
 "I ll go and live with the other one," he called 
 angrily, with no attempt at notification. 
 
 "The other one?" The cure looked inquiringly at 
 Guenn. 
 
 "It s Monsieur Hamor," she replied with a frown. 
 " Nannie likes him, heaven knows why." 
 
 He paused an instant, then rejoined: "Monsieur 
 Hamor is very amiable. One cannot in justice say the 
 contrary." 
 
 " You know him? " the young girl asked abruptly. 
 
 " Yes ; do 3*011 ?" 
 
 "How can one help it? One sees him everywhere." 
 She shook her head impatiently. 
 
 He said nothing, but looked glad. 
 
 " I hate new faces and strange voices. Why should 
 they come here ! I love my people." 
 
 " Guenn," exclaimed Thymert, with a warm gleam in 
 his e} es, " we are Bretons, you and I." 
 
 He was happier than he had been in many days. He 
 looked suddenly boyish and free from care. 
 
 " Nannie always calls him the other one. Nannie is 
 so strange," said Guenn with uneasiness. 
 
 " He is only fanciful."
 
 GUENN. 189 
 
 " You cannot judge how strange he is unless you live 
 with him," she continued thoughtfully. "He says, if 
 you like any one your heart aches." 
 
 " Well, it does ache. Nannie is right there." 
 
 " And he says his back aches and his legs ache, and 
 that s ache enough. That s the reason he won t like 
 anybody." 
 
 " Poor little gamin ! Poor Nannie!" 
 
 " But I think he likes me all the same," Guenn said 
 contentedly ; " and if he does n t it s no matter : he is my 
 Nannie, he can do what he pleases." 
 
 The cure was evidently not concentrating his thoughts 
 upon Nannie. He rose and looked out on the bay. 
 
 " See ! There s Meurice coming in. I wonder what 
 he s got," she pointed to a sail far away. 
 
 He turned and examined her slowly from head to 
 foot. She was lying as softly against the rock as if she 
 were a bit of moss, sabots easily crossed, red ker 
 chief neatly pinned, faded old skirts clinging to her 
 closely, brown hands knitting incessantly, and never 
 receiving a glance from the beautiful eyes frankly up 
 turned to his. 
 
 " I have a prettier one," she said innocently, " but I 
 like the old one better. Did you tell him to buy it?" 
 
 "I? No," he smiled kindly, " I said nothing about 
 a kerchief." 
 
 Again his grave glance scrutinized her. "It s as 
 patched as patched can be, isn t it?" and Guenn 
 laughed heartily, lifting her skirt and looking at it with 
 extreme amusement. " Nobody knows what the first 
 dress was but me, and I ve almost forgotten myself. 
 That s a nice bit ; that s my favorite patch ; Madame 
 at the Voyageurs gave it to me." She subjected herself 
 to a thorough supervision. "It can t hang together
 
 190 GUENN. 
 
 much longer, you see," calmly putting her finger through 
 a weak spot; "well, it s all the same to me," she 
 added philosophically, smoothing it over her knees. 
 
 "The artists want you to pose for them," he said 
 abruptly. 
 
 I 11 see them hanged first ! " she exclaimed in her 
 rudest way. 
 
 " Monsieur Hamor wants A T OU." 
 
 She colored angrily. " Fool ! I hate him." 
 
 " I knew it ! I only wanted to hear you say so. Let 
 us not talk about them," hurriedly. 
 
 Guenn stared. "Well, I m sure I don t want to 
 talk about them ! " 
 
 Leading up gentry to an important question was ob 
 viously not one of Tlrymert s accomplishments. Sud 
 denly and with shyness and effort he said: "How 
 would 3 ou like to be married ? " 
 
 Guenn broke into uncontrollable laughter. He waited 
 patiently, smiling a little. 
 
 When she could speak, she said, laughing still : "It 
 is so droll. First I was to go to Quimper ; that was 
 bad enough ! Now I am to be married ; that is worse ! 
 Pardon, monsieur le recteur, but I can t help laughing. 
 What is coming next ? " 
 
 " Laugh, child, laugh ! " 
 
 " Well, if you really want to know, I shouldn t like 
 it at all," she said with positiveness. 
 
 " But many girls as young as you marry," he urged 
 shyly. 
 
 " Oh, dear, }-es, younger," Guenn assented bluntly, 
 as unembarrassed as any old nurse. " Anna ic married 
 at fifteen. She s got four children ; three are alive 
 and one is dead. I saw him, the poor little bambin. 
 He was so white, and his little hand was so cold. I
 
 GUENN. 191 
 
 felt of it. Annaic cried all night ; I should n t like that ; 
 oh dear, no ! " 
 
 " I am dull about these things," he said, alwa^ys 
 with the same shyness. "But it seems to me it is right 
 to speak with you. It seems to me, if you had 
 a mother, it would all be different. Now there is 
 Alain ! " 
 
 " Alain ! Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! " Again she laughed 
 irrepressibly. 
 
 "And 3 et, last night I looked across the ba}^, and 
 wished you were Alain s wife. I wished you were safe 
 in any honest man s home." 
 
 His kindness touched and sobered the girl. " It 
 was good of you," she said gently. " Only," smiling 
 roguishly, " I don t want him, thank you." 
 
 " There are so many waiting for you." 
 
 " Let them wait " 
 
 " But, Gruenn " 
 
 " Now listen, monsieur le recteur." She folded her 
 arms resolutely, and looked him in the face. " You are 
 good to me. You are not like the men. Alain would 
 kiss me," her clear eyes did not falter as she said this, 
 but Thymert s sank a moment, only he would beat 
 me when he was drunk. You know it 3*ourself. Why 
 waste our breath? I will tell you. this, only } ou, 
 I have had blows enough," she muttered fiercely, " and 
 if another man should beat me, I would murder 
 him ! " 
 
 Thymert grew pale. " O my God," he said under 
 liis breath. His whole soul looked out of his pathetic 
 eyes at the young girl who had passionately spoken 
 these brutal truths. "Tell me, Guenn,"- his voice 
 low and hoarse, " has he been bad again? Has 
 he "
 
 192 GUENN. 
 
 "Never mind," said the girl curtly. "I ve said 
 enough," closing her lips obstinately. 
 
 "Well," she went on, recovering herself, " since it is 
 you, I will say it. Alain is a good fellow. I will dance 
 the gavotte with him, raise the weights with him, race 
 with .him, laugh with him; but marry him? never! 
 Why should I many, and grow old before my time ! 
 Bah ! " 
 
 " Guenn, child, all men are not like him. It is 
 no wonder that }*ou judge by what you know best ; but 
 there is many a brave fellow who would be good to 
 you," he pleaded fervently, " and who would keep you 
 safe safe." 
 
 " What has old Jacqueline of her twelve children?" 
 she demanded boldly. " Eight brave sons drowned. 
 And once she was young like me, strong like me, pretty 
 like me. And she toils on at seventy, and hears the 
 waves at night and does not die ! " Guenn clasped her 
 hands above her head and rocked herself to and fro. 
 
 " She has suffered, and been faithful," said Thrymert 
 with a solemn and tender voice. " She will be comforted. 
 All her pain will be as nothing, when she meets her 
 eight sons in heaven." 
 
 " But she has had it all the same," persisted the 
 girl. 
 
 " And Jacqueline is only one. And why should } ou 
 not take some good heart and be content?" 
 
 " Don t want any good heart," she answered dog 
 gedly. 
 
 "What do you want, child?" 
 
 "What do I want? Well, I never thought," she 
 answered indifferently. " Did the bon dieu ask me if I 
 wanted to be here at all ? " with an irreverent little shrug. 
 " I found myself here, and had to go on, whether or no.
 
 GUENN. 193 
 
 But since it is 3*011, I will tell you what I want." She 
 paused, then went on with spirit: "I want to laugh a 
 little longer ; to be young and strong and the prettiest 
 girl in Plouvenec a little longer ; to sing and dance the 
 gavotte with Alain and the other fellows ; and pack 
 sardines the fastest, and buy best for Monsieur Morot ; 
 and hear them say, Oh, yes, that s Guenn, only 
 Guenn can do that, c est bien elle ; and see the boats 
 come over the bay like a flock of birds ; and joke with 
 the sailors ; and have you come to talk with me like 
 this, monsieur le recteur, because you are so good and 
 kind," she said with a pretty graciousness ; " and of 
 course always have Nannie near me. All this, a little 
 longer ! And then I should like to go off suddenly like 
 a sailor, without any fuss, you know," she exclaimed 
 brightly. " And the people would say, Why, where s 
 Guenn Rodellec? and look at each other. Mother 
 Quaper and Mother Nives would actual!} stop quarrel 
 ling a few moments ; and madame at the Voyageurs 
 would raise her eyebrows to see another girl come with 
 the fish. The}- would be sorry. But there would be 
 no fuss. Why should I not be like a Breton sailor? 
 Is n t it better than to be like Jacqueline, with her eight 
 boys drowned? Oh yes! I would rather be a sailor, 
 and drown in a gale off Penrnarch, than the sailor s old 
 mother, working and waiting on shore. It is easier for 
 the boys. I will be a boy, and if not quite a boy, 
 at least I am Guenn Rodellec ! " 
 
 Her impassioned face, her clear young voice, moved him 
 unspeakably. And was it not true, for the most part, 
 what she said? He was a simple man, whose work 
 was with rough facts, not with theories. It was natural 
 that women should be gay girls, then suddenly careworn 
 wives, household drudges. 
 
 13
 
 194 GUENN. 
 
 It was natural that men should keep their youth 
 better than women, that there should be merry-makings 
 and mourning, much drinking and fighting, hard work, 
 rough play, laughter and tears. It was natural that 
 blows and children should be too frequent among the 
 poor, that the bravest and best should never come 
 hack from the sea that nourished and devoured the 
 Breton folk. Did he not know all this ? Had he not 
 lived his life among such things ? Was he not giving 
 the strength of his young manhood to his brothers, 
 helping them not only with his holy office, but with his 
 heart and his hands? But that a mere girl could stand 
 apart and judge it all, he had not known. Was it 
 not true, then, what she had said? Why should he try 
 to send Guenn Eodellec to Quimper? She was more 
 of a woman than the nuns. Why should he try to 
 marry her off? His pulses had bounded as she spoke. 
 He had a keen comprehension, both of what she said and 
 what she left unsaid. It did not occur to him at the 
 moment to refer her to the Church. The sailor-cure, 
 it must be confessed, did not keep the ropes of his 
 theology quite taut. In a more captious ecclesiastical 
 neighborhood he would have fallen into dire disgrace for 
 laxity of form. But Thymert was literally a fisher of 
 men. He had saved so many poor fellows at the risk 
 of his life, had had so frequent occasion to apply flan 
 nel, brandy, and mechanical friction to the chill bodies 
 of his brothers that he sometimes forgot or had not 
 time for spiritual counter-irritants. 
 
 Guenn s words struck powerful chords in his respon 
 sive heart. He saw thousands of brave fellows lost 
 at sea, - he heard wailings from innumerable haggard 
 women along the Breton coasts. 
 
 Meanwhile the little knitter was looking earnestly 
 at him.
 
 GUENN. 195 
 
 u And now yon understand, monsieur le rectenr." 
 
 " And now I understand." 
 
 "Must you go?" she said, as the full length of the 
 old soutane towered above her. 
 
 She sprang up lightly, stretched both arms, and gave 
 a series of little kicks with one foot, then the other. 
 
 "When you sit still so long, you have to find your 
 self again," she remarked gayty, continuing her pro 
 cess of finding herself. "It s the way a cat does, 
 isn t it?" 
 
 She was all color and warmth, as she looked up at 
 him, vivid cheeks, brilliant eyes, bits of bright hair 
 blowing in the wind of her coiffe, smiling in the 
 prettiest way and showing her small square teeth, 
 smoothing her red kerchief with both hands, then rest 
 ing them comfortabh on her hips. The priest stood, 
 tall and dark, beside her. 
 
 "Take care of yourself, Guenn." 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes." 
 
 " I wish I could feel that you were safe " 
 
 "Safe! Well, if anybody is safe, it s Guenn Ro- 
 dellec. Ask the others, monsieur le recteur. They 
 will tell you a thing or two." She laughed mischiev 
 ously. " It s only fair to say that I m more decent with 
 j-ou. I can t help that. It s because you are so good. 
 But sometimes, I m a perfect little diable." She 
 nodded repeatedly to convince him of the completeness 
 of her iniquity. 
 
 He hardl} heard what she said. He felt as if rain 
 bow brightness was before him on the gray cliff. He 
 must leave it, must lose it. His thoughts were wander 
 ing and confused. He had accomplished nothing. 
 Well was there anything to fear ? It was all so 
 vague.
 
 196 GUENN. 
 
 And there was Guenn at his side, self-reliant, full 
 of daring, honest and merry. 
 
 " If I can ever help } r ou, Guenn, .yon will tell me. If 
 you are ever in trouble, if you ever feel alone, if anything 
 happens, and you are not sure and bright as to-day, 
 and } r ou don t know what to do or where to go, come to 
 me, child." His dark face was wistful as a woman s. 
 
 " I will," said the girl gravel} . Something in his 
 manner awed her in spite of herself. 
 
 "Is it a promise?" 
 
 " It s a good Breton promise ! " She lifted her hand 
 with energ} r and brought it down hard in his outstretched 
 palm. "If I ever need help, I will come to } T OU as 
 surely as the winds and waves come to the Lannions. 
 You will shrive me and I shall be shriven. Now are }-ou 
 satisfied ? " Her hand was clasping his firmly. Her 
 bold, honest eyes looked him squarely in the face. 
 
 "It s a promise," she said again. "I never made 
 a promise before. I hate promises. The people who 
 are all the time promising are all the time lying." She 
 scowled and curled her lips scornfully, reflecting upon 
 the conduct of a near relative. "You see, when any 
 body wants anything of me, I just say memo chose, and 
 do it if I can. But I won t promise : I *ve heard too many 
 of the slippery things. They make me sick. Bah ! " 
 
 All the time, her hand, like a frank boy s, grasped 
 his. "But this is different," warmly. "You are 
 good to me. You are good to the whole world. I would 
 like to do something for you. I would like to show you 
 that I know how good 3 ou are to me, monsieur le recteur. 
 And so I m glad to promise, though," laughing, " I do 
 think it s absurd. I m afraid of nothing, you know : 
 I can take care of myself. But I promise all the same. 
 There ! " and she gave his hand a vigorous shake.
 
 GUENN. 197 
 
 Suddenly she began to examine it deliberately and 
 with a curious expression. It was strong, brown, much 
 used, hard-skinned, with broken nails and old scars and 
 recent cuts on the knuckles. 
 
 She looked up cheerfully. " That s the right kind of 
 a hand. It s a good Breton hand. I hate the other 
 kind." 
 
 Thymert neither knew nor cared what she meant. 
 He drew his hand slowly away, looking lingeringly at 
 the young girl. 
 
 " It has been pleasant," he said gently. 
 
 " Yes, hasn t it?" she returned with satisfaction. 
 
 "Adieu, Gueun." His eyes looked a solemn fare 
 well. 
 
 " Adieu, monsieur le recteur," smiling brilliantly. 
 
 "God bless 3-011, child ! " 
 
 He turned abruptly and went. She watched him a 
 moment, going awa}- from her down the rocks. He 
 did not look back. He reached the beach, and strode 
 on rapidly, the old soutane making him a black, lonely 
 figure on the white sands. 
 
 " Le bon recteur!" said Guenn lightly, and ran to 
 find the others. 
 
 There was no storm that night, yet the cure of the 
 Lannions paced his chapel till dawn, and did not 
 repeat his Virgil.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 NE evening, just 
 after dinner, the 
 three painters 
 sat at a little 
 table in front of 
 the Voyageurs, smoking 
 and taking their coffee and 
 curaoa. The light from 
 the windows streamed 
 over the pavement. The 
 common was dark and 
 nois}" with the voices of men. 
 The fort was a lowering black mass. Along the other 
 shore, the lights were nailing the land down to the 
 water with long golden nails. Ragged, grinning chil 
 dren were hovering about the tables, greedy for sous 
 and lumps of sugar, quarrelling and rolling over one
 
 GUENN. 199 
 
 another, in the dust, when anything was flung to them. 
 The white coiffes of a half-dozen girls gleamed at a 
 little distance, their figures indistinct, moving like 
 vivacious phantoms, their voices young and real. 
 
 Don t you call this rather cool?" asked Douglas. 
 
 Fresh, yes, but I like it," Hamor answered 
 heartily, 
 
 " And lively," Staunton said. 
 
 " Plouvenec makes more noise than Paris," complained 
 Douglas. "The first morning I was waked by that 
 cursed market here on the common, I thought Bedlam 
 had broken loose. A French pedler auctioning off a 
 metre of ribbon is a dangerous lunatic." 
 
 "Oh! I know the fellow you mean," said Hamor. 
 " He laughs deliciously, and sobs and implores, all at 
 the top of his voice. lie comes every Monday morning 
 regularly, and regularly every Monday morning, I long 
 to choke him. I ve got my 63*6 on him. If ever I catch 
 him alone in a chemin creux. gare ! " 
 
 " How those coiffes bob about ! With my eyes half- 
 shut," he continued, looking through his eyelashes, "I 
 see heads and no bodies." 
 
 " Those girls have singularly pretty voices. I always 
 like to hear them evenings," Staunton remarked pleas 
 antly. 
 
 The three listened an instant. From the rough Babel 
 of the common, an oath in an innocent, happy voice, 
 followed by a charming laugh, reached them. 
 
 " Ah, it s Guenn Rodellec ! " Hamor exclaimed. "I 
 thought she must be there : the coiffes are so vivacious. 
 They are playing some game." 
 
 Again the pretty laugh pealed through the darkness. 
 
 "It s the most delicious thing I ever heard," Staunton 
 said.
 
 200 GUENN. 
 
 It makes a man feel kindly towards the girl without 
 seeing her," added Douglas. 
 
 " I alwaj s feel kindly towards Guenn Rodellec 
 whether she laughs or not," remarked Ilamor. " I 
 should feel kindly, if she should attempt to poison me. 
 There is nothing in life that could make me feel unkindly 
 towards a creature built as she is, and with that face." 
 
 Douglas gave an equivocal " H m ! " 
 
 "It is curious how innocently the girl swears," 
 Staunton said with an indulgent smile: "it ought to 
 be shocking, you know." 
 
 " When I was teaching school out West," began 
 Hamor ; "come, now, Staunton, don t make an ele 
 vated railway of your eyebrows ; you re a decent-look 
 ing fellow when you keep them where they belong. I 
 did teach school out West, you know, and it s one of 
 the best things I ever did." 
 
 " My dear Ilamor," protested Staunton, laughing, 
 "I am sure I always find your reminiscences most 
 edifying." 
 
 " When I was teaching school out West," Hamor 
 went on gravely, " my youngest pupil was four years 
 old. It was an academy of heterogeneous learning, 
 you know. My oldest pupil was in conic sections. I 
 was teaching the youngest to read. Her name was 
 no, upon the whole, I won t tell you her name. I ve a 
 sneaking fondness for that child still : she s going to be 
 a pretty girl some time." 
 
 " The discretion of a man of honor; the sentiment 
 does you credit," Staunton said with a wave of the 
 hand. 
 
 "It was the name of a vine; I think I ll call her 
 Mistletoe," Hamor continued soberly. " Well, I was 
 teaching little Miss Mistletoe to read, and she knew ox,
 
 GUENN. 201 
 
 but failed utterly on cow. Have I told you that she 
 was a beauty ? Cherub type golden curls big blue, 
 low-set, Celtic eyes, such as these Breton girls have. 
 Surely you know this word, I said, tell me what 
 it is, my dear ; }~ou know it, I am sure. Mistletoe 
 raised her angelic face from her primer and smiled 
 confidingly. I 11 be damned if I do, she said very 
 gently. So, you see, America can produce this sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " America can produce most sorts of things," Staun- 
 ton remarked civilly. 
 
 "As to this swearing," Hamor continued, "it is 
 positive!}- less offensive to me from these girls than 
 slang from girls who ought to know better. That oath 
 of Guenn Rodellec s just now, with her voice clear 
 as crystal, sounded less coarse than fast society- 
 talk." 
 
 He now began snapping lumps of sugar with his 
 thumb and finger towards the boys, hovering around 
 like birds of pre} T . 
 
 "You encourage those little vagabonds," Staunton 
 said carelessly. 
 
 " Yes, that s what I want to do. I in going to en 
 courage one of them surprisingly. Wait." 
 
 Emboldened - by the rain of sugar-lumps, the boys 
 drew nearer. Hamor called many of them by name. 
 
 "Ah, there s my friend Kadoc. How are you, 
 Kadoc ? " 
 
 Kadoc grinned, looked sheepish, and said nothing. 
 
 "And Nannie, upon my word. How are you, 
 Nannie?" 
 
 " How are you yourself? " replied the boy boldly. 
 
 " Gimme a cigarette," called a shrill voice, " and I U 
 stand on my head."
 
 202 GUENN. 
 
 " He can t stand on his head worth a sou," sneered 
 another ; "let me stand on mine, in sieu." 
 
 " I want the very best kind of a performance for my 
 money," remarked Hamor gravely; "don t offer me 
 an} 7 second-rate shows." 
 
 Three-legged race, m sieu ? " " Sack-race, m sieu ? " 
 "Wrestling, m sieu?" shrieked a dozen boys, deeply 
 excited by this unwonted notice. 
 
 "Everything, your whole repertoire; but first I 
 want some more cigarettes." 
 
 This was the signal for a general scrimmage, each 
 insisting upon being chosen for the commission. Oaths, 
 blows, and much rolling on the ground monopolized the 
 whole assembly, except Nannie Rodellec, who stood 
 apart and watched Hamor. The bo}- felt that a great 
 and memorable moment was approaching. 
 
 At last Ilamor succeeded in making himself heard. 
 " Be quiet : behave yourselves," he called sternly. 
 
 " Send the noisy little brutes off, Ilamor, won t you? " 
 Staunton said, with a yawn. 
 
 " Not quite yet, Staunton, if you don t mind. Boys, 
 stand in a row," he commanded. 
 
 The} T obeyed fourteen ragged, dirty, grinning, eager 
 little bo3 T s. What was the m sieu going to do? The 
 irregular line of vagabonds thrilled and swayed with 
 excitement. 
 
 "Now," said Hamor solemnly, "the honest and 
 good bo} s hold up their hands." 
 
 An eloquent pause, then awkward laughter and scuf 
 fling of feet, some in sabots, some bare. At length, 
 from the end of the line, Nannie Rodellec, grinning 
 from ear to car, raised his long, misshapen arm. When 
 this was perceived, a shout of derision burst from the 
 others and eveiy hand flew up.
 
 GUENN. 203 
 
 Ah, this is refreshing ; fourteen honest, good boys ! 
 I never saw so many in my life before." 
 
 "Fourteen dirty little scoundrels ! " commented Doug 
 las. " Moreover you are offering a premium for hypoc 
 risy." 
 
 " Oh, no ! the}- know it s a joke as well as } T ou do : 
 look at their faces. Nannie Rodellec ! " 
 
 Nannie stepped forward with grotesque dignity. The 
 white coiffes had drawn nearer. Two girls, arm-in-arm, 
 were bending forward, watching breathlessl} . 
 
 At this moment madame s placid presence filled the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Nannie, I think I would rather have you. buy my 
 cigarettes." 
 
 " I knew it," said the child gravely. 
 
 " In fact, yon may always buy them for me." 
 
 Violent expressions of envy and disappointment ech 
 oed along the line. 
 
 " I knew you d say that, too," observed Nannie. 
 
 "Did you, indeed? AVell, that s clever! You take 
 this paper and bring me the same brand, will you?" 
 
 " I know the kind you smoke," answered Nannie, 
 disdaining the paper, his pale face fixed on Hamor s. 
 
 " If 3 ou know so much, tell me what I have in my 
 hand." 
 
 The boy looked wizened and anxious ; then he turned 
 and scowled fiercely at the line of sneering, leering 
 gamins waiting for his downfall. He cast another 
 nervous glance at the strange messieurs whom he was 
 longing to impress with his cleverness. There were 
 Guenn and Jeanne, too, and madame in the doorway, 
 and some people at the next table. It was a clear case 
 of " thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood 
 behind ; " only poor Nannie did not belong to that
 
 206 GUENN. 
 
 but if 3-011 11 have a short one, I don t mind running with 
 him myself, m sieur." 
 
 " Thanks," said Hamor politely. " I m sure you are 
 very kind." 
 
 " You see you are expected to organize a complete 
 circus," Staunton remarked. "I congratulate } ou." 
 
 " Well, it s a very good puppet-show so far. What 
 wires are } r ou going to pull now ? " inquired Douglas. 
 
 "I am reflecting." He saw perfectly that the two 
 girls at the side were ver} T near him. " Nannie must 
 collect the purse," he said in French. "They ll give 
 some sous at that table, and more in the cafe." 
 
 Guenn Rodellec was instantly at his elbow, looking 
 threateningly at him. Jeanne hung on her arm. Ma 
 dame came quietly from the doorway, and stood behind 
 them. 
 
 "I wish j ou d let my brother alone!" Guenn 
 exclaimed passionately. 
 
 " Why, Guenn, are you there? Good-evening." His 
 voice expressed pleased surprise. " And Jeanne too ! 
 Are you waiting to see the boys come up ? " 
 
 " What do I care about the boys? I tell you to let 
 my Nannie alone," she cried in a hard, imperious voice. 
 
 " Guenn," began Hamor kindly. 
 
 " You were laughing at him, I tell you. You were 
 mocking, you know }*ou were ! I saw } our face." 
 She stamped her foot. Her voice trembled. 
 
 "My dear child, you really misunderstand. I was 
 doing nothing of the kind. I am rather inclined to 
 think Nannie was laughing at me." Then very gentl} T : 
 " Think, Guenn, have I done anything but give him a 
 pleasure ? He cannot run races ; he cannot wrestle ; he 
 cannot stand on his head ; he is not like the others, 
 poor Nannie ; but he likes to go about with them, and
 
 GUENN. 207 
 
 he bears many a hard knock and push and taunt, merely 
 that he may keep his place in the ranks. Well, I have 
 made him happy, that is all. He likes to feel impor 
 tant. We all do. Have I done any harm ? " 
 
 She stood listening as if under a spell, breathing 
 hard, her eyes dilated, staring at Hatnor, pulling ner 
 vously at her apron. His voice was both laughing 
 and tender. It was true, what he said of Nannie, per 
 fectly true. It was what she felt, but no one had ever 
 expressed it in words to her before. She was soriy, 
 generous enough to wish to say so, but she could 
 not speak. 
 
 " How can you be angn*, Guenn?" said the tender 
 voice. "Would I hurt Nannie? Absurd, child 
 absurd." 
 
 Hot tears started to her e} - es. She stood helpless 
 and ashamed. " You beauty ! " thought Hamor. 
 
 " Monsieur is too amiable to hurt anybod} 7 , I am 
 sure," said madame s passionless tone from behind 
 them ; " and, Guenn, the gentlemen must amuse them 
 selves in their own way. Their ways are not our ways. 
 Come, ines cnfauts " laying hands of quiet proprietor 
 ship on the shoulders of the two girls. " I have some 
 thing to show you. Good-evening, gentlemen. Amuse 
 3 ourselves well. You make the boys happy and it is a 
 pleasant evening for a little sport. The season holds 
 well, messieurs, happily " 
 
 She walked the young girls towards the door. Guenn 
 felt that she was being morally influenced, as well as 
 physically propelled. It was madame, yes. But 
 that soft pressure on the red kerchief was new to the 
 girl. The weight of it was irksome to her rebellious 
 heart. She drew up her shoulder with a little impa 
 tient movement. Madame smiled and would not be
 
 206 GUENN: 
 
 but if you 11 have a short one, I don t mind running with 
 him myself, m sieur." 
 
 " Thanks," said Hamor politely. " I m sure you are 
 very kind." 
 
 You see you are expected to organize a complete 
 circus," Staunton remarked. "I congratulate you." 
 
 "Well, it s a very good puppet-show so far. What 
 wires are you going to pull now?" inquired Douglas. 
 
 "I am reflecting." He saw perfectly that the two 
 girls at the side were ver} near him. "Nannie must 
 collect the purse," he said in French. "The} 11 give 
 some sous at that table, and more in the cafe." 
 
 Guenu Rodellec was instantly at his elbow, looking 
 threateningly at him. Jeanne hung on her arm. Ma 
 dame came quietly from the doorway, and stood behind 
 them. 
 
 "I wish 3 T ou d let my brother alone!" Guenn 
 exclaimed passionately. 
 
 " Why, Guenn, are you there? Good-evening." His 
 voice expressed pleased surprise. " And Jeanne too ! 
 Are you waiting to see the boys come up ? " 
 
 What do I care about the boys ? I tell you to let 
 my Nannie alone," she cried in a hard, imperious voice. 
 
 " Guenn," began Hamor kindly. 
 
 "You were laughing at him, I tell 3-011. You were 
 mocking, you know } T OU were ! I saw your face." 
 She stamped her foot. Her voice trembled. 
 
 "My dear child, you really misunderstand. I was 
 doing nothing of the kind. I am rather inclined to 
 think Nannie was laughing at me." Then very gently : 
 "Think, Guenn, have I done anything but give him a 
 pleasure ? He cannot run races ; he cannot wrestle ; he 
 cannot stand on his head ; he is not like the others, 
 poor Nannie ; but he likes to go about with them, and
 
 GUENN. 207 
 
 he bears many a hard knock and push and taunt, merely 
 that he ma} r keep his place in the ranks. Well, I have 
 made him happy, that is all. He likes to feel impor 
 tant. We all do. Have I done any harm ? " 
 
 She stood listening as if under a spell, breathing 
 hard, her eyes dilated, staring at Hamor, pulling ner 
 vously at her apron. His voice was both laughing 
 and tender. It was true, what he said of Nannie, per 
 fectly true. It was what she felt, but no one had ever 
 expressed it in words to her before. She was sorry, 
 generous enough to wish to say so, but she could 
 not speak. 
 
 " How can you be angry, Guenn?" said the tender 
 voice. "Would I hurt Nannie? Absurd, child 
 absurd." 
 
 Hot tears started to her eyes. She stood helpless 
 and ashamed. " You beauty ! " thought Hamor. 
 
 " Monsieur is too amiable to hurt an} body, I am 
 sure," said madamc s passionless tone from behind 
 them ; " and, Guenn, the gentlemen must amuse them 
 selves in their own way. Their ways are not our ways. 
 Come, ines enfants " laying hands of quiet proprietor 
 ship on the shoulders of the two girls. " I have some 
 thing to show 3~ou. Good-evening, gentlemen. Amuse 
 yourselves well. You make the boys happy and it is a 
 pleasant evening for a little sport. The season holds 
 well, messieurs, happily " 
 
 She walked the young girls towards the door. Guenn 
 felt that she was being morally influenced, as well as 
 physically propelled. It was madame, yes. But 
 that soft pressure on the red kerchief was new to the 
 girl. The weight of it was irksome to her rebellious 
 heart. She drew up her shoulder with a little impa 
 tient movement. Madame smiled and would not be
 
 208 GUENN. 
 
 shaken off. Guenn, like Lot s wife, looked back. She 
 saw Nannie bringing the cigarettes, and giving them to 
 Hamor with an important air, the pale malicious face 
 excited and happy. He took his place confidently 
 by Hamor s chair. With one bound she had escaped 
 from the gentle captivity. Flushing, brilliant, beauti 
 ful, the light from the windows falling broadly upon 
 her, she stood again by the surprised 3*011 ng men, "I 
 was just hateful! " she exclaimed impetuously . 
 
 " Guenn," remonstrated Hamor. 
 
 "Well, I was," she said, and flew back to madame. 
 
 A long whistle was Douglas s only comment. 
 
 After a pause, Staunton took off his hat and said, 
 gravely, " Salut ! " 
 
 Hamor smiled. 
 
 "Nannie, collect the purse. You saw the bo3*s go 
 round the corner. Who s going to win?" 
 
 "Kadoc." 
 
 Madame convoyed the two girls to the kitchen at the 
 back of the house, and quite removed from the revels. 
 Jeanne was gentle and passive and not without pleas 
 ing anticipations. She knew the kitchen and madame. 
 Guenn looked restless and moody. 
 
 " Whj* can t we go out and see the fun?" she de 
 manded with suspicion. 
 
 "It was some lace I wanted to show } ou," began 
 madame placidly. "I shall have a bit left for Sunday 
 coiffes for you and Jeanne." 
 
 " Guenn likes lace," Jeanne suggested pacificalby. 
 
 "Yes, but it s lively out there," Guenn muttered, 
 scowling and twisting herself about. 
 
 "You would rather see the lace another time? It 
 is a pretty pattern." 
 
 "It s fun to see the boys come up," said Guenn, 
 hesitating.
 
 GUENN. 209 
 
 " Let us go out then. It is quite immaterial to me. 
 I had prepared a little pleasure for you, but it can 
 wait." Calm as she had led them in, she led them 
 out. 
 
 "I like 3 ou, madame," cried Guenn impulsively. 
 Madame laid her hand again on the young girl s shoul 
 der. This time she did not try to shake it off. It was 
 like a highly temperate caress. 
 
 Guenn stood quiet and tractable with madame by 
 the door, the calm hand resting on her shoulder, and 
 presently the bare feet of the runners sounded on the 
 hard ground, and their dark forms began one after 
 another to appear : first Kadoc, who threw himself 
 panting on the earth ; in a quarter of a minute young 
 Meurice, who also dropped speechless ; then the most of 
 them in straggling fashion, with some bringing up an 
 ignominious rear. These made loud explanations, to 
 which no one listened, angrily demonstrating the occult 
 causes of their failure. Hamor hushed them perempto 
 rily. He began to take a boyish pleasure in his circus. 
 More coiffes gathered by the bright doorway where 
 madame stood like the goddess of wisdom, silent and all- 
 seeing. Some men came over from the common, 
 attracted by the excitement. 
 
 Alain was in a most maudlin state of romantic in 
 toxication. He sidled up to Guenn and made a bold 
 remark displeasing to her fancy. She turned with one 
 of her swift motions, planted both hands on his breast, 
 and gave him so strong a push that he staggered vio 
 lently back. The men shouted, the girls laughed, 
 Guenn resumed her position, her hands on her hips, 
 nodding good-humoredly at madame and remarking, 
 " He 11 get as much every time." 
 
 Madame smiled. There was no danger in this. Thy- 
 14
 
 210 GUENN. 
 
 mert himself would have no fear of Guenn s roughest 
 joke with Alain. Madame was not imaginative, but 
 to-night Thymert s dark troubled eyes presented them 
 selves vividly before her. 
 
 Meanwhile Hamor was organizing his athletic sports. 
 Nannie Rodellec gave clever suggestions and informa 
 tion, classifying the boys impartially, buiying all pri 
 vate animosity, his spirit mounting to the exalted 
 occasion. He distributed the prizes with an urbanity 
 never before observed in him. The boys wei e too 
 much impressed to laugh. Only once did he forget 
 the dignity of his role. A small fat boy who could not 
 run, and whom disappointment had rendered bitter, 
 struck Nannie in the face as he passed. Nannie s long 
 arm returned the gratuitous blow with the rapidity of 
 thought, but this silent exchange of courtesies in no 
 way interfered with the able execution of his official 
 duties. 
 
 Under the great oak on the edge of the common 
 stood a group of older men, in shadow. Madame 
 brought out a couple of lanterns which illumined the 
 small wrestlers, stripped to their ragged shirts and 
 trousers. Kadoc and Meurice, shoulder to shoulder, 
 eye to eye, rough heads together, were closing with 
 the energy of young bisons. The judge came out from 
 the cafe and sat down by Hamor with a friendly and 
 paternal air. From the darkness of the common, 
 Mother Kives fixed upon him a leer of such dimensions 
 that a sensitive organization would have felt ill at 
 ease, in its unseen presence. 
 
 Mother Quaper was in brilliant spirits. Had not her 
 Kadoc distinguished himself? All the women standing 
 about in the dark were knitting. The night grew cooler 
 and more cloudy, the fortress was a low frowning pile
 
 GUENN. 211 
 
 of turrets and battlements, disclosing itself b}* the light 
 of one feeble lantern on the drawbridge. 
 
 " How in did my boy know that painter?" de 
 manded Herve Rodellec, leaning against the trunk of 
 the great oak and smoking a short pipe. " That s 
 what I want to know." 
 
 Well, it s a mighty good thing to know the paint 
 ers. It means a good many francs a month," his 
 friend Hoe l answered. 
 
 u I would n t ask a sou to know that fellow the way 
 I want to know him," muttered Rodellec grimly ; " only 
 it is n t a way he would enjoy. He d stop grinning 
 then. It would be unhealthy for his grin." 
 
 "I don t know but I d like to help spoil his grin 
 too," remarked Loic Nives. "What right has a 
 strange gars to go grinning about here?" 
 
 " Oh, if he doesn t do anything worse, let him grin 
 on," said Hoe l. 
 
 " But I tell you I don t like it," exclaimed young 
 Nives with an oath. " Look at him now. Look at 
 the girls staring at him. Jeanne and Guenn, and all 
 of them 
 
 " You re a brave lad, Loic," Rodellec said with his 
 cordial air, and a hearty slap on Nives s shoulder. " I 
 wish I had a son like you." 
 
 " Well, I should like nothing better," Lo ic answered 
 awkwardly, laughing, and shuffling from one foot to 
 another. 
 
 " We 11 see, we 11 see," Rodellec returned encourag 
 ingly. "I never force my motherless children; my 
 wife is an angel now." He wiped his eyes piously. 
 " I never force them ; but we 11 see, my boy " 
 
 " Jeanne Ronan gets fifty francs a month," said 
 Mother Quaper s voice near by. " It s a good bit now
 
 212 GUENN. 
 
 that the usines are closed ; and as to the work, well, 
 it is nothing." 
 
 " Hem?" said Rodellec, pricking tip his ears. 
 
 "I suppose it s sitting still and looking pretty, Ma 
 dame Quaper," returned another harsh voice from the 
 group of women. " That would be mighty hard work 
 for some folks." 
 
 " You re right there, Madame Nives," retorted the 
 Quaper, undisturbed. " The 3 T oung gentlemen don t 
 seem to trouble their heads much about any of us old 
 women, but there s a great difference between folks as 
 was good-looking once, and folks as was n t." 
 
 A querulous voice began : " There s no accounting 
 for their tastes. Is n t my girl a line plump wench ? 
 Well, I brought her to them, to these very three at the 
 table ; they are at Morot s granaiy, you know. They 
 thanked me, looked at her once over their shoulders ; one 
 of them said she was not exactly the style of beauty he 
 required. The} r all turned their backs, went on with 
 their painting, and left me plantee-la. I explained it 
 all to them, but the}* never opened their lips ; except 
 when I went, that one at the right said, Good-day, 
 madame, as smooth as you please. Eveiybody knows 
 they want Guenn Rodellec. Now I don t say Guenn 
 has n t a pretty face enough, and is n t spry ; but my 
 girl would make two of her, and no mistake." 
 
 "Hark!" said Rodellec again. "Fifty francs, did 
 they say ? " 
 
 " Yes, by weight," answered Mother Quaper, with a 
 broad laugh. " Two of her by weight, sure enough. 
 I can t say I know what the painters want. I know 
 my trade. It s enough for one. I suppose the} know 
 theirs. It seems to pay better than washing. I wished 
 I d learned it when I was young. They are civil-
 
 GUENN. 213 
 
 spoken, if the} are a little cracked in the upper story ; 
 but if they only want weight, well, there s a good 
 mam" things they can paint, things with horns, things 
 with snouts, things with coiffes." 
 
 "Jeanne Ronan says they would pay Guenn any 
 price," continued the jealous mother of the unsuccessful 
 aspirant, following her train of thought unmoved by 
 the general tittering. 
 
 " She d better go and pose then, and not put on 
 such airs," said another unsought maiden. 
 
 "I don t see why she s any better than anybody 
 else," added a third, with a sniff. " She laughs in their 
 faces." 
 
 " She s that proud," chimed in Marie, "like a 
 demoiselle, my grandmother says 
 
 " Confound } our grandmother, and all her brood," 
 Mother Nives roared. " Whatever s the matter with 
 Guenn, she can make a joke and a laugh, which is 
 more than you stupid things can do, to save your silly 
 souls " 
 
 "And perhaps you can all boss Guenn Rodellec;" 
 and Mother Quaper turned on the girls with her favorite 
 tone of pleasing satire. " Perhaps you can tell the 
 wind where to blow, the tide when to turn, monsieur le 
 commandant how to sail the Merle, and" grandly 
 " me and Madame Nives how to wash linen." 
 
 " Perhaps ! " exclaimed Mother Nives, her great 
 voice hoarse, her soul flattered by this tribute from 
 her colleague : " and perhaps it s }-our particular affair 
 what Guenn Rodellec does anyhow, and whether she 
 earns sixty francs a month, or throws it in the painters 
 faces." 
 
 "Perhaps it s mine!" muttered Rodellec. " Sixty 
 francs," he reflected. " What a fool I ve been ! And
 
 214 GUENN. 
 
 then I can get at him cas} r . Sixt} francs ? Why have 
 I never heard of this before ? I thought it was a few 
 sous the girls get. And she refuses, and tosses her 
 head and laughs ! Sixt} francs, and the usine closed ! 
 By the blind eyes of Saint Ilerve of Plouvenec ! " 
 
 The women moved on. Madame Nives and Madame 
 Quaper, uniting only for sublime moments, had already 
 reverted to their pristine isolation. 
 
 "Well, that s a round sum of money to pay a girl 
 for doing nothing. Don t I wish I had a daughter," 
 Hoel chuckled. 
 
 Rodellec looked across to the door where Guenn 
 stood in the full light. She was laughing, talking, 
 moving vivaciously, knitting fast, happy in Nannie s 
 glory. 
 
 " Rodellec has more sense," young Nives declared. 
 "What s the use of sending our girls to have their 
 heads turned forever, so that the} won t look at a good 
 fellow unless he s all the time telling them how hand 
 some they are. Is that what a girl is for? To put her 
 up before you, like one of the blessed saints in church, 
 and keep your distance ? Well, that s what our girls 
 expect, after this cursed painter nonsense. I say a 
 girl ought to have a civil tongue in her head, and con 
 sider herself lucky to get an} r man who sails his own 
 boat. Fooling round with painters is n t going to help 
 her keep her house straight, and mind her babies ; " 
 and the young man shot sullen jealous glances at the 
 whole bright scene before him. 
 
 "And I sa}-," said Hoel practical!} , "that sixty 
 francs a month is n t to be thrown out of the window 
 for a whim ; and if I had as handsome a lass as Guenn 
 Rodellec, it would n t be long before I d send her 
 marching straight to the lirst man who wanted her to
 
 GUENN. 215 
 
 sit on a box and be looked at all day. There s no 
 harm in that, is there ? An honest penny is an honest 
 penny, worth having wherever you find it. And mark 
 my words. If a man is man enough to sail his own 
 boat, it won t take him long to turn a girl s head back 
 to the house and the babies." He laughed loud at his 
 own wit. Rodellec joined in pleasantly. 
 
 " Well, well," he said with bluff good-humor, "I 
 don t den} it would be a help, and the winter coming 
 on ; but my girl may do as she will. Leave the young 
 things free, that s my motto, leave the 3 oung 
 things free. Sixty francs," he thought, "and she, 
 little fool over there, tossing her head, and going on 
 as if nothing was the matter ! Laughs in their faces, 
 does she ? " 
 
 "Come down," he said to the others, with a nod 
 towards the distant orange-colored glass door. "I ve 
 had enough of this." 
 
 "Well, I m going over there where Alain is, and the 
 other fellows," Nives answered awkwardly. 
 
 "To hang round the girls and watch the strange 
 gars," laughed Hoe l. " Well, a lad must be a lad and 
 follow the coiffes ; but we old fellows know what s 
 better, eh, Rodellec?" 
 
 Rodellec smiled benevolently upon Lo ic s ugly face. 
 
 " Go over there," nodding wisety, " you are a match 
 for any of them, Lo ic. You tell me what goes on." 
 Loic crossed the road to the group of neglected swains 
 who stood disconsolately in the background of the 
 merry-making, at a little distance from the door. The 
 girls conspicuously ignored their presence, lavishing an 
 exasperating degree of attention upon every movement 
 of the painters. Guenn leaned carelessl} against the 
 house, her hands clasped behind her head,
 
 216 GUENN. 
 
 "Ah, raon dicu, quc la vie est amcre ! " 
 she sang with her happy voice. 
 
 "It s a very good thing I m not at school at Quim- 
 per," she said suddenly to madame and Jeanne with a 
 bright laugh. " It would n t be half so gay as this." 
 
 " Quimper ! " exclaimed Jeanne "You ! " 
 
 " Didn t I tell 3*011? It was the good Thymcrt who 
 wished to send me ; " and Guenn leaned still more non 
 chalantly against the door-post. Hamor moved his 
 chair slightly, that he might observe her at his ease, 
 while obviously occupying himself with his ragged 
 battalion. 
 
 Madame breathed a soft and prolonged "A h 
 
 " Well, I never ! " cried Jeanne, making large eyes. 
 
 " Meme chose," said Guenn, "since I m here all 
 of me ! " looking down at herself complacently. 
 "And it was good of him, you know," with quick re 
 gret that she had mentioned lightl}* a matter which the 
 priest had regarded with earnestness. 
 
 " I don t understand," began Jeanne. 
 
 "And it is not at all necessary that 3*011 should," 
 Guenn remarked grandly. "It would be very impu 
 dent of any of us to even try to understand monsieur le 
 recteur of the Lannions." 
 
 Jeanne was thus authoritatively rebuked. 
 
 Madame smiled, but said not a word. If Thymcrt 
 had failed, she could do nothing in this case. Yet it 
 was not a bad idea, this Quimper scheme. The main 
 thing was not to seem to act. 
 
 Guenn laughed and sang and made audacious com 
 ments. She answered the judge somewhat bluntly as 
 he went by ; gave Alain a good-humored smile, to show 
 him that she cherished no rancun-e against an old com 
 rade ; bestowed only a haught3 r stare and a shrug upon
 
 GUENN. 217 
 
 poor Loic ; lorded it over Jeanne ; was gentle and as 
 civil as she knew how to be which was indeed not 
 always too civil towards madame ; and leaned and 
 crossed her feet, and smoothed her kerchief, and 
 tossed her head, and threw herself into a dozen be 
 witching attitudes in as many minutes. All the time 
 she never lost . a word or look of Hamor s, not one 
 smile that he gave Nannie, not a tone of his pleasant 
 voice as he commanded or bantered his grinning little 
 tattered forces, not a gesture of the fine long hands. 
 
 " There is no harm as yet," thought madame ; " but 
 she has excited ej-es, and she sees only him." 
 
 " I don t know wiry I am such a fool as to feel sorry 
 for the little thing," reflected Staunton, " and I don t 
 know r why I ve hoped all along that he would n t get 
 her. It s all right of course." 
 
 Ilamor was possessed b} T a rapture of enthusiasm. 
 " What shall I do first with her?" he thought. " Every 
 moment of hers is an inspiration. She never strikes a 
 false note. I feel that I shall do some good work." 
 
 It grew late. Staunton got up with an air of ex 
 hausted politeness and proposed a rubber of whist with 
 a friend at the Grand. Hamor ordered his riotous mob 
 to disperse. The boys withdrew to the blackness of the 
 common for a vociferous summing up of jo}~s and sous, 
 preparatory to shooting off to their various homes, and 
 finishing their acrobatic feats by climbing into the upper 
 stories of the lits clos. 
 
 " Come round to-morrow, Nannie," Hamor said 
 carelessly. 
 
 Nannie laid his arms on the table, and his head on 
 his arms, looked at them all solemnly, and said : " I ve 
 been there before ; I m always there." 
 
 " I don t doubt it, said Hamor gravely : " but let me
 
 218 GUENN. 
 
 see you to-morrow, will 3 ou? I don t alwaj s see 
 you." 
 
 "I will," answered the child. 
 
 "Good-night, madame ; good-night, Jeanne and 
 Guenn." 
 
 Madame and Jeanne responded civilly to the three 
 3 oung^ men as they turned to go. Guenn said not a 
 word ; only looked at them boldly, smiling, a little de 
 fiant as usual. She felt that she had been quite amiable 
 enough for one day. They need not expect anything 
 more of her, airy meek good-evenings and yes-sirs. She 
 would leave all that to Jeanne. So she stared at them 
 with glowing e3 r es, and a little mocking air, until they 
 were gone, chatting and laughing pleasantly as they 
 crossed the dark common. 
 
 In the rough room in the corner of the island chapel 
 Thy inert sat alone ; his Virgil lay open before him, but he 
 was not listening to the silver voice. His candle nick 
 ered ; he turned mechanically to snuff it, and saw a 
 winding-sheet in the flame. The waves fell with a sul 
 len, hollow sound, and on the winds were cries of 
 warning ana pain. The young priest passed out into 
 the night, and walked through the sad little graveyard. 
 In the dark, his accustomed feet respected each poor 
 mound, and his heart gave its instinctive benediction to 
 his dead sailors. There was a sense of companionship 
 in feeling them near, for Tlrymert was lonely and op 
 pressed by vague fears, and even the child Erec was not 
 there to-night, to sleep his healthy sleep in the long 
 passage that led to the sacristy, and with the rise and 
 fall of his peaceful breath to infuse an atmosphere of 
 home and warmth under those wind-swept eaves. To 
 night the brown cheek was absent from the coarse pillow, 
 and Thymert as he passed had no cause to shade his
 
 GUENN. 
 
 219 
 
 candle and walk softly with a beautiful tender smile on 
 his dark face. No, he was alone, except for these 
 quiet sleepers. The clouds hung low over the Penfret 
 phare. The Plouvenec light he could not see. He 
 missed to-night the greeting and response which one 
 tower was wont to flash across the bay to the other, 
 drawing the desolate islands nearer to the kindly land. 
 He turned towards the open sea. The winds swept 
 his long black hair back from his face. He folded his 
 arms across his breast, and stood motionless. Like the 
 sadness and unrest, the longing and mystery of the 
 unfathomable ocean were the mighty surges of his 
 unfathomable young human heart.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ANNIC RODELLEC, lean 
 ing upon a wet cart-wheel, 
 resting his wizened face upon 
 his arms, like a caricature 
 of the smaller angel of the 
 Sistine Madonna, was the 
 first object that met Hamor s 
 gaze when, at eight o clock 
 the next morning, in a fine 
 rain, he went to his atelier. 
 The child nodded gravel} , 
 
 watched him with a serious air as he unlocked the gate, 
 then followed him across the court, up the broken stair- 
 wa} T , into the studio, as if it were all an oft-told tale. 
 Hamor was himself in a silent mood, and as soon as 
 Jeanne came shyly in, a few moments later, grew deeply 
 absorbed in his work. Nannie s infallible instinct for 
 finding places that would support him comfortably led 
 him to a pile of boxes where his heavy head rested on 
 his arms in the usual wa}-, and his eyes alone moved, 
 glancing sharply from the painter to the canvas and 
 the model. To Jeanne s familiar merry looks he deigned 
 no response ; but as if he were the genius of the place, 
 brooding over its past and future, he remained motion 
 less, enveloped in a vast thoughtfulness.
 
 GUENN. 221 
 
 Humor s face looked sterner and older than usual, 
 lie was working fast and frowning steadily. His morn 
 ings were not as his evenings, and unless the outer 
 world made strong demands upon his vitalit}*, it was 
 usually inclined to be parsimonious rather than prodigal 
 until after ten o clock A. M. Neither his obedient and 
 amiable little model nor the pale boy crouched on the 
 boxes, whom indeed Ilamor had for the moment quite 
 forgotten, made any demands whatever upon him. So 
 the frown between his eyes, and the pinched look round 
 his nose, and the set mouth had their will ; the sunny 
 smiles and winning, kindly expressions were stored away 
 out of sight for future use ; and all that was resolute 
 and hard in the nature of the man proclaimed itself. 
 
 The little humpbacked philosopher found much food 
 for reflection. What was there about Jeanne that made 
 Monsieur Ilamor scowl? Wlrvdid he scowl at his can 
 vas? How could a strong, well gars, who might be sail 
 ing his boat or smoking his pipe on the digue, care so 
 much about making a picture of Jeanne Ronan, in her 
 even -day clothes, too, and not even her Sunday coiffe? 
 Monsieur Ilamor was evidently very much in earnest 
 about something. Nannie s curiosity was enjoj ably 
 roused. However, he never permitted himself to exhibit 
 the slightest surprise. In the studio there was much 
 which was new and strange to him, but he trusted to 
 time and his mother-wit to make everything clear. 
 Meanwhile, he felt uncommonly comfortable. Nobody 
 was hooting at him or slapping him, the boxes fitted his 
 person to perfection, and he found the smiling Monsieur 
 Hamor in his scowls an interesting if incomprehensible 
 study. 
 
 After an hour, Hamor rose abrupthy, knocking over 
 his camp-stool, went to the chimney upon which the
 
 222 GUEXN. 
 
 fire spirit was now airily soaring, and from the cigarettes 
 and matches lying loosely upon the mantelpiece helped 
 himself, all the time eying his work discontentedly. 
 ; The whole thing needs potatoing and oiling out," he 
 muttered. Suddenly he saw Nannie leaning forward 
 like a grinning gargoyle. " Oh ! " he said, surprised. 
 Then he smiled with amusement. Nannie, are you 
 comfortable ? Are you all right? Does it amuse you 
 up here ? It s rather dull, is n t it ? You look as if 
 you grew on these boxes." 
 
 ; I am thinking." answered the child sententiously. 
 
 Well, think then ; and if there s anything you want, 
 tell me," Hamor said abruptly, but kindly. Come, 
 Jeanne. Again, posez ! " 
 
 " She s coming," announced the motionless boy after 
 a pause. 
 
 Who? Guenn?" asked Hamor, turning eagerly. 
 Nannie, without changing his attitude, lifted a long bony 
 hand and pointed with one wise finger towards the court. 
 Hamor glanced down involuntarily, saw nothing but 
 wagons in a fine rain, the familiar fence, lane, and build 
 ings. He looked curioush" at Nannie, then resumed 
 work. Nannie responded only b}- his inscrutable Gothic 
 grin. 
 
 The magnets in the granary had drawn Guenn as far 
 as the great arch of the entrance to the courtyard. The 
 rain was falling in a drear} , hopeless way on the irregu 
 lar stones of the pavement ; on the still grayish house 
 with faded green blinds and lilac bushes before the front 
 windows ; on the yellow and red omnibus with its weary 
 wheels drawn up beneath it ; on the long low roof of the 
 wheelwright s shop, dimming the gold of the lichens. A 
 cat came slowly down the stairway. Its feet sounded 
 curiously heav}- and regular. It stopped two or three
 
 223 
 
 stairs above Guenn s head, and regarded her solemnly. 
 She called it gently, and wished it would come near 
 enough for her to stroke it. But it turned away, cany- 
 ing its tail like a flagstaff, and went up the stairway 
 with the same soft, unsympathetic precision. When she 
 peered out into the rain she could see the three dormer 
 windows of the granary, with the dust} broken panes ; 
 but she could see nothing of her Nannie, or of Jeanne 
 or Monsieur Hamor, and she was careful to keep well 
 out of sight. It was not far to Morot s usine. In a loft 
 near by, some girls whom she knew were mending nets. 
 They were quiet girls, invalids more or less, called 
 good because not strong enough to be wild or noisy. 
 Guenn, with a bombshell effect, burst in among them. 
 The conversation, which had been brisk enough before, 
 began to drag perceptibly. Guenn with gathering dis 
 content watched the four pale girls sitting in low chairs 
 before the blue nets drawn out in long, narrow shapes 
 like shrouds. Balls of twine lay on the floor, and soft 
 piles of netting ; the light from the windows behind 
 streamed upon their bowed shoulders in sober kerchiefs, 
 and their white coiffes. Guenn was out of place here, 
 and she knew it. She had never heard of what young 
 ladies call a sympathetic atmosphere, and did not know 
 how to discourse about attraction and repulsion ; but 
 these staid, diligent girls made her feel cross and un 
 comfortable. They seemed as old as old women, and 
 as far away from her. Certainly the}* were not over 
 joyed at the appearance of this bright young thing in 
 their midst. She had interrupted their piquant recitals, 
 in which, indeed, she herself had figured largely ; and 
 then she was so brilliant!}-, audaciously well. "Why, 
 they are as stupid as the cat," she thought, feeling 
 again the slight sense of disappointment which had fol-
 
 224 GUENN. 
 
 lowed pussj- s orderly retreat. " It would be like this 
 with the nuns at Quimpcr, I suppose." She tried 
 to talk a little, but the conversation languished and 
 died. 
 
 "Well, there s no fun in you, I must say," she 
 remarked not ill-naturedly. "I m off!" 
 
 The oldest girl raised her head. She was a sickly, 
 unpleasant-looking young woman, whose self-righteous 
 ness consoled her for many evils : " We are not always 
 expecting fun," she said reproving!}" ; "we always have 
 our dut}*." 
 
 Guenn turned on the threshold with a bright little 
 laugh. "All right," she answered, shrugging her 
 pretty shoulders ; " you may have the duty : I d rather 
 have the fun. Adieu." 
 
 But, nevertheless, when she was out on the road 
 again her face fell ; and, indeed, she did not seem to 
 be finding much fun this morning. Madame had al 
 ready tried to keep her bus} in the Voyageurs kitchen, 
 but the girl had grown impatient of chopping and pound 
 ing and grinding, and, seizing her opportunity, escaped. 
 Her thoughts fixed themselves tenaciously upon the 
 studio. What could Nannie be doing up there? He 
 must like it or he wouldn t stay. If she could steal 
 softly up the stairway and look in without being seen ! 
 It was strange to think of Nannie with a stranger. 
 Jeanne was there as a matter of course. Monsieur 
 Hamor was smiling and smiling, and painting with his 
 long white fingers. 
 
 Poor little Guenn, standing again under the stone 
 arch, felt strangely homesick and out in the cold. 
 Yet nothing prevented her from opening the high gate 
 and walking through the court and up the stairs and 
 straight into the old granary, except except what?
 
 GUENN. 225 
 
 Indeed she did not know. She was not addicted to 
 introspection. It never occurred to her to analyze 
 these emotions that were making her uncomfortable 
 and forlorn. She missed Nannie, not that he was 
 always with her, but at least she could always reach 
 him when she chose to go to him. And now he was 
 beyond her reach, unless she sacrificed all her tradi 
 tions, her obstinateby enunciated opinions, her defiant 
 pride, or, as she would have said, unless she ate her 
 words. Last night, when, as often happened, they told 
 her late she would have to go down to the dram-shop 
 for her father, and she had stolidly marched into the 
 very midst of the orange light, and taken him by the 
 arm among the men, as other girls did commonly 
 enough to their fathers, and led his stumbling steps 
 the long wa}* home, mechanically, with neither sorrow, 
 disgust, nor fear, the only intelligible word she heard 
 from him was a constant refrain of " sixty francs sixty 
 francs." This morning early she had heaixl the inter 
 pretation of his babbling, and had been peremptorily 
 ordered to present herself without more ado at II amor s 
 atelier, to engage herself as model for not less than 
 sixt}- francs a month and, if she wasn t a fool, she d 
 get seventy, Rodellec added. Parental authority was 
 strong in Plouvenec. A man might be a drunkard and 
 a knave, but his command to his child was as binding 
 as that of a God-fearing, silver-haired patriarch among 
 the dwellers in tents. 
 
 Guenn had turned pale as he spoke. She had not in 
 her remembrance approached him with any petition. 
 Now she begged as another girl might beg another 
 father. " Father," she said, and it was the word she 
 never used, " don t make me do it." 
 
 Fool ! " returned Rodellec unrelentingly. Nannie 
 15
 
 226 GUENN. 
 
 was curled up on the bench, his wise, heavy head lean 
 ing on the oaken table. 
 
 "I never asked you anything before," she went on 
 in a fierce, shy way : "I ll never ask you an3 thing 
 again, surely: I onl_y ask you this, don t make me 
 doit; don t send me to him to this one. I ll go 
 anywhere else; I ll pose for any of them," she cried 
 desperately; " only not to him. There s a French 
 man at the Grand ; he 11 pa} quite as much. Father ! " 
 The girl s voice was a pra}*er in the one unwonted word. 
 
 " You 11 go to Hamor and to nobod}* else," said Ko- 
 dellec doggedly. 
 
 " Nannie ! " turning in strange appeal to the child. 
 
 "You will have to do it, Guenn ; I see it coming 
 coining," he replied, impassive as fate itself. " It must 
 be." 
 
 "I ll give you three days," growled Rodcllec. "If 
 you re not there by that time, I 11 take 3*011 there my 
 self." 
 
 The girl s hot spirit rose. " And if I won t ! " She 
 turned her defiant eyes boldly upon him with a scowl. 
 
 His answer was a blow. Guenn fell in a heap on the 
 earthen floor. There was a curious snarl, but no word 
 or motion, from the figure leaning on the table. Ro- 
 dellec with an oath left the house. Guenn picked her 
 self up, feeling a little dizzy, and bathed a bruise under 
 her left temple. 
 
 " I m going," said Nannie. " You 11 come later 
 later." Present!}- he sidled into the house again. 
 " Here," he said, holding out a couple of dried leaves ; 
 " they are from the Druid-stone. Put them on and it 
 won t ache : I whispered to them." 
 
 She smiled gratefully. She was pleased that he 
 cared : it was so seldom that Nannie seemed to care.
 
 GUENN. 227 
 
 " Later," he said significantly, and went out. 
 
 Left alone, Guenn put the house in order, according 
 to her conception of the word. There was little to be 
 done, and that she did quickly. Then she went down 
 to the village and wandered about aimlessly, with a 
 curious oppression in her heart, and alwa} T s the sense 
 of being drawn nearer and nearer the place where her 
 Nannie had gone to be with the smiling stranger. It 
 was surely Nannie whom she wished to see, yet Hauler s 
 face as it had looked last night, his high head with the 
 light on it, his hand holding a cigarette, his smiles to the 
 boj s, his low, pleasant words which she could not un 
 derstand, although she had listened so eagerly when he 
 spoke to his friends, all this was before her, a vivid 
 and powerful vision, haunting her wherever she turned 
 this dreary morning, drawing her towards itself. "How 
 can yon be angry, Guenn?" The girl trembled, re 
 membering his voice. She had run about everywhere 
 trj-ing to forget it ; but she heard it in madame s 
 kitchen, and with the still menders of nets. Wher 
 ever she went the unrest in her heart grew greater, 
 until for the third time that morning she found herself 
 under the arch between the stables and house, looking 
 listlessly at the wet omnibus, the wet lilac bushes, the 
 wet roof: sometimes peering out and giving a stealthy 
 glance up to the granary windows. 
 
 Nannie expected her : she knew that. Nannie had 
 said, "-You ll have to come." What if she should go 
 up, not to pose, of course, only to look about 
 once ? 
 
 With this thought, all her blood seemed to course 
 furiously through her veins, and all her savage opposi 
 tion to Hamor rose up for one last effort. Did he smile 
 last night? Well, had he not always smiled? From
 
 228 GUENN. 
 
 that first evening on the beach, when she hated him for 
 being a strange man and looking at her, had not his 
 smile been in her thoughts by day, in her dreams by 
 night? And she hated him still. Yes, she hated him. 
 Because he made his voice sound like an angel s and 
 said " Guenn ! " until her heart beat fast, and she trem 
 bled like a leaf, was that an} reason for not hating him? 
 No. For that, she must hate him all the more. She 
 remembered how she had refused him flatly in his face, 
 how she had laughed and mocked with the women by 
 the river, how all Plouvenec knew that Guenn Rodellec 
 would not pose, though all the strangers on earth wanted 
 her. Should she swallow her pride, and go in like an 
 other girl? Never? And her father? Her face grew 
 sullen and heavy. The bruise on her cheek burned, 
 and only strengthened her obstinac^y. " Tlvj-mert will 
 help me," she reflected. It was the first time that 
 faithful friend had entered her troubled thoughts that 
 morning. Guenn had a deep, if stolid instinct of obe 
 dience to her father, and a noble reserve that sought 
 habitualby to conceal from the world his brutalitj- to 
 wards herself. But even this was over-mastered Iry the 
 resurrection of her farouche and superstitious dread of 
 yielding to Ilamor s influence. She would go to Tlrv- 
 mert. Thymert would understand. Thymert would 
 take care of her. She had promised indeed to go to 
 him if ever she was in trouble. Never before had she 
 felt the need of protection. With the new sensation 
 came a kindly grateful sentiment towards the priest, 
 who she knew would stand with her, shoulder to shoulder, 
 and resist these strangers, their smiles, their sweet tones, 
 their foreign ways which she hated because she could 
 not forget. As for her father, he always listened to the 
 good cure. And if she got an extra blow afterwards for
 
 GUENN. 229 
 
 interfering with the scheme, what would it matter? 
 What was a bruise more or less, if only she, Guenn 
 Rodellec, could keep her freedom, not go over to the 
 foreigners, not yield to the strange feeling that was 
 always drawing her, drawing her against her will, 
 like the quicksands on the lower coast. 
 
 She straightened herself, tossed her head, and turned 
 to go, singing gayly her little song about the bitterness 
 of life. For the moment, she felt like the old Guenn, 
 careless, merry, buoyant. The good Tlrymert would 
 make things right. Perhaps somebody was going out. 
 She would look along the qua} . The sailors were all 
 kind to her. Somebody would surely take her over to 
 the Lannions. 
 
 Did the cackling of geese save Rome? But who may 
 estimate the loss and disaster and ruin caused by the 
 cackling of geese ever since? At the moment when 
 Guenn, bold and jo3 ous of mien, was passing out of 
 the archway, the tired little woman who from her win 
 dow had seen the young girl coming and going three 
 times, was moved to descend. " What do you want?" 
 demanded the mistress of the premises not unkindl} , 
 yet with that glance of vague disapproval which a faded 
 woman is apt to unconsciously bestow upon a beautiful, 
 fresh, young girl. 
 
 " Nothing," answered Guenn, turning and facing her, 
 read3 for peace or ready for war with perhaps a lean 
 ing towards the latter. 
 
 " Are you waiting for anybody ?" demanded the little 
 woman languidly. 
 
 " No," replied Guenn, with an aggressive look. 
 
 " Are you a model? " and her pale e}"es studied, with 
 a kind of weary curiosity, the bold and brilliant } oung 
 face.
 
 230 GUENN. 
 
 This catechism irritated Guenn. " No," she said 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Do 3*ou want to be a model ? " persisted the other. 
 
 Guenn laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Because," continued the tired little woman with mild 
 fatuity, " I know Monsieur Hamor very well. He is 
 very amiable, this Monsieur Hamor. He stands here 
 and chats with me often." She looked affectionately 
 about the archway and gave a small sigh of pleasing 
 reminiscence. Guenn flushed warmly, and began to 
 move about. She had a violent desire to push or shake 
 this exasperating person. She wanted her to stop talk 
 ing. She longed to hear more. 
 
 "He has such a beautiful, amiable smile, this Mon 
 sieur Hamor," ah, how well Guenn knew that ! "it 
 warms the heart to see it, and a kind voice one must 
 say, and a happy bright face, when everything else is 
 dull." She glanced at the familiar things about her, 
 dull enough to-day in the drizzling rain, " and if 3*011 
 want to be a model, not that he has painted 3 our kind 
 3*et," she said jealousby. "I don t know as he likes 
 your kind," she looked discontentedly at the superb 
 color in Gucnn s face. " I would n t mind taking 3~ou 
 up there. I have n t much to do this morning." She 
 began to smooth her hair with her hands in anticipation. 
 
 " I must see Monsieur Hamor any wa3 ," the small 
 garrulous voice went on : "I am going over to Quimper 
 to-morrow. There s something he wants me to bring 
 him from Quimper," with importance. " If I should 
 take 3*ou up, he would paint 3 r ou. He paints everybod3 r 
 and ever3*thing, you know, and if 3*ou are afraid to go 
 up alone, you need n t be afraid with me." 
 
 What perverse spirit suddenby possessed this harmless 
 and insipid little person that she managed to combine in
 
 GUENN. , 231 
 
 her weak discourse all that was needful to destroy Guenn s 
 rational plans, to turn her from her safe chosen path, 
 to set the hot heart beating fast again, to re-establish 
 the power of the old witchery, beckoning her on against 
 her will? Guenn herself never knew why the wander 
 ing eyes, drawling voice, and complacent allusions to 
 Ilamor, nearly maddened her and started her off as if 
 pursued by furies. 
 
 She interrupted the silly prattle with an imperious 
 gesture, and one consuming look of utter scorn, then 
 sprang past the foolish speaker into the lane, flung open 
 the gate, and crossed the court with her long swift step. 
 No dowager duchess with a train could be so majestic as 
 this angry Breton girl, in her short patched skirts and 
 clattering sabots, which, urged on by her ardent spirit, 
 flew over the ground, as if they had wings. Up the 
 broken stairway ran the light unhesitating feet. With 
 out knocking, Guenn knew how to knock, but the 
 trifling ceremony was with her voluntary not obliga 
 tory, she opened Ilamor s door, and, sudden as a gust 
 of wind, made her violent entrance into the old garret. 
 
 The gargoyle never moved. Jeanne s face expressed 
 an innocent " Oh " of surprise. The vein in the middle 
 of Ilamor s forehead grew prominent. lie did not turn 
 his head. His hand worked mechanically on. lie 
 knew well who had come. Only old Boreas or Guenn 
 Rodellec would dare sweep into a man s castle in this 
 high and might^v way. It was evidently not Boreas, 
 unless he had taken to wearing sabots, and to breathing 
 very audibly with quick short breaths like a young girl 
 under strong excitement. 
 
 "Would j ou mind shutting the door, Guenn?" he 
 said pleasantly. 
 
 She did not move. He turned and looked over his
 
 232 GVENN. 
 
 shoulder at her, kind, expectant, but not smiling. He 
 did not at this crisis dare to risk the familiarity of a 
 smile. Guenn was poised as lightly as an) creature 
 that flies : she was, in fact, leaning slightly towards the 
 open door. Her arms hung straight down in front of 
 her j her whole figure expressed tremulous lightness, 
 only her hands were clinched nervously. She looked 
 as if she might the next instant bound out into freedom 
 as swiftly as she had darted into captivity. Hamor 
 knew that if he lost her now, it would be forever. 
 
 " Shut it, please," he said again in a perfectly matter- 
 of-fact tone as their eyes met; "it makes too much 
 draught : the broken windows are bad enough." 
 
 Guenn s eyelids drooped before his steady gaze ; her 
 nervous little fingers relaxed ; her spirit yielded. She 
 turned, walked slowly towards the door, and with her 
 own hand shut herself in shut her old life forever 
 out. 
 
 The gargoyle never moved ; Jeanne looked inno 
 cently pleased ; while Hamor, his back turned, breathed 
 one long breath of relief and triumph. 
 
 Guenn stood irresolute by the closed door. 
 
 " Come and see me paint Jeanne," said the low, gen 
 tle voice, and Hamor motioned to a camp-stool near 
 him. 
 
 Guenn stalked across the I oom mechanically and 
 seated herself. 
 
 " It will not disturb me if you and Jeanne talk," Ha 
 mor said affably: "if it should, I will tell } ou. You 
 see I am not painting her face just now." At the mo 
 ment he was expending considerable technical skill on 
 her coarse blue apron. He concentrated himself upon 
 his work. 
 
 Guenn, still breathing quickly, her e3"es looking very
 
 GUENN. 233 
 
 large and excited, watched the strokes of his brush and 
 palette-knife with at first about as much appreciation 
 as any other untamed thing of the woods might feel 
 before a work of ai t. But Harnor s earnest manner, 
 the two familiar faces, the absence of any surprise at 
 her presence and of any attempt to dictate to her, had a 
 soothing effect. She began to look around curiously ; 
 then rose and walked up and down the atelier, regarding 
 everything with her bold gaze ; asking no questions, 
 not even in Breton, of Jeanne. None of the models, 
 whatever their manners in other respects left to be 
 desired, were addicted to asking personal questions. 
 Nil admirari seemed to be their one instinctive guiding 
 principle : they declined to yield to surprise or admira 
 tion when brought face to face with the strangest things, 
 and they listened to tales of other lands with a conde 
 scension which Hamor found delicious. 
 
 Bottles, cigarette-papers, pipes, tobacco-pouches, 
 bowls and jugs, camp-stools and easels ; Breton em 
 broidery flung over a beam, pieces of rich-colored cash 
 mere ; boxes piled up, making a table resembling an 
 altar, a dark-red cover concealing its humble extrac 
 tion ; a few choice books ; an ancient long-necked vase, 
 relic of seigneurial days, with "Dime" in blue letters 
 on its cracked side ; Hamor s favorite seat, a treasure 
 cut out of a huge oak trunk, the base spreading by 
 the fire and twisting like serpents, all black and polished 
 by time ; French yellow-covered novels, tossed in dis 
 gust under the eaves and left to lie where they fell, > 
 in short, all the picturesque confusion of Monsieur Ha 
 mor s entourage, Guenn submitted to thorough inspec 
 tion. Moreover she made free use of whichever sense 
 the need of the moment seemed to indicate : lifting the 
 Dime vase and smelling of it, feeling of the cretonne
 
 234 GUENN. 
 
 draperies that hung on either side of the chimney. She 
 stood long before the fire-spirit, a veiy eccentric flight 
 of Hamor s fancy. It evidently caused her profound 
 thought. He smiled as he furtively watched the earnest 
 uplifted eyes fixed upon so palpable a caprice. Guenn 
 was, in fact, pitying the ignorance of foreigners and 
 heathen who could worship this unknown deity. 
 
 There was a little fire on the hearth. An ember fell. 
 The young girl knelt, seized the tongs, arranged the 
 wood neatly, and looked for a brush. 
 
 "It s over there," said Jeanne in Breton, pointing 
 to a distant corner. 
 
 " Nice place for it ! " grumbled Gucnn, running 
 quickly to bring it. She did not try to go softly ; her 
 sabots clattered noisily over the rough floor. Nothing 
 seemed to divert Monsieur Hamor s attention from his 
 work, but when she had swept the hearth and deposited 
 the brush somewhat emphatically in what she consid 
 ered its legitimate place, he said ven quietly, 
 
 "Thanks, Guenn." 
 
 She smiled at him frankly. She found the atelier very 
 agreeable. In the first place, it was large, large 
 enough to run races in, and she liked that. Then, it 
 was obviously a place where you could do as 3-011 
 pleased. She went to the window and drummed cheer 
 fully on a pane, then laughed her pretty, gay laugh, 
 remembering the woman s amazed face left behind in 
 the archwa} . 
 
 " You see, Jeanne," she began abruptly, " that little 
 drawling fool down there wanted to bring me up. I 
 just thought I d bring nvyself." She laughed again, 
 took out her knitting, sat on the broken stone window- 
 seat, and chatted in the most unembarrassed manner 
 in the world. Why should she not? There were
 
 GUENN. 235 
 
 Jeanne and Nannie ; and no one was annoying her in 
 the slightest degree. She felt as free as air. 
 
 Monsieur Hamor did not intimate that he had any 
 interest in the Breton conversation which his three 
 guests now pursued with animation. He found Guenn 
 bewitching, her laughter, her freedom, her vivacity. 
 As to manners, he asked himself seriously whether her 
 untutored mode of investigation was not, upon the 
 whole, more agreeable than the efforts 3"oung lady visit 
 ors usually made to please him, and to say something 
 clever : using stereotyped art-phrases which they did 
 not understand, and affecting a superhuman knowledge 
 of technique. 
 
 Guenn did not stay long on the window-seat. She 
 never stayed very long anywhere. Knitting, making 
 abrupt remarks which convulsed Jeanne with merriment 
 and produced deeper lines on the gargoyle s sculptured 
 face, she stood looking over Hamor s shoulder at his 
 painting. Ignorant as she was, she was too intelligent 
 not to begin presently to feel a nascent perception of 
 the magic of a stroke. She saw wonderingly how 
 quickly something vanished that was there before, how 
 something new appeared, how it grew in strength and 
 beauty under his touch. She felt as a child may feel, 
 without comprehending, the earnestness of the worker. 
 It was something real to him, then, this picture-making. 
 She watched him with e}"es both shy and bold. 
 
 "What do you think of it?" said Hamor, throw 
 ing back his head and looking at her. "Is it like 
 Jeanne? " 
 
 " Jeanne is never sad," she answered without hesita 
 tion. The picture was one of the innumerable peasant- 
 studies which find their way to Paris, to sell well and 
 adorn the walls of luxurious houses, where peasants are
 
 236 GUENN. 
 
 myths. Jeanne was sitting on some boxes knitting, 
 her hazel eyes looking at you over her work. The 
 warm, transparent brown of the sloping roof made an 
 effective background for her serious and simple figure. 
 
 " Sad?" Hamor looked curiously at his new critic. 
 
 "Jeanne s face is so," said Guenn in her rapid im 
 pulsive way, making her hands broadly concave, 
 "not so," straightening them. 
 
 "Ah, that is what you mean. It s not the face, 
 Guenn. It s the mouth. Jeanne s mouth is not easy 
 to paint." 
 
 Guenn nodded soberly as if that were a point she 
 could easily comprehend, and watched him introduce 
 a suggestion of levity into the corners of the unsatis 
 factory feature. " This kind of mouth," reflected Hamor, 
 tipping up the right corner, "is awkward, because it 
 expresses so little. The young unformed, untried 
 mouth, with the innocence of childhood lingering in it, 
 and " tipping up the left corner the vague tendency 
 to coarseness hovering over it, and all its lines un 
 settled, with no composure and no self-control, and 
 the possibility of its going to the good or the bad about 
 equal, well, it s what I call the very deuce of a mouth." 
 
 "There, is that better?" 
 
 "It s better," Guenn answered, turning away in 
 differently, "but it s ugly." 
 
 " It is ugh*," Hamor said, laughing and looking at 
 her with admiration, this time not of her beauty. It 
 was not every brother artist who would give him an 
 unbiassed opinion, still less every casual visitor. Hon 
 esty was a rare guest, whom he knew how to prize. 
 He tried a small experiment. He delighted in experi 
 ments. " Will you go over and turn all those pictures 
 face out, and tell me what you think of them? "
 
 GUENN. 237 
 
 She walked straight across to the other side of the 
 garret, where six or eight pictures in various stages of 
 completion stood face to the wall. In a moment the 
 whole row was on exhibition ; and Guenn standing at 
 a little distance, head erect, hands busily knitting, 
 expressed her incisive opinions as special art-critic, 
 with the self-confidence which she would have displayed, 
 had the subjects under discussion been fish. 
 
 " Well, why not? " reflected Ilamor. " Who waits 
 for special training before he criticises anything and 
 eveiy thing, in the heavens above, the earth beneath, 
 and the waters under the earth? What do I know 
 about music, for instance, and when have I refrained 
 given the shadow of an opportunity from a voluble 
 exposition of my utterly worthless views about Wagner? 
 The girl is delicious. Thank heaven, she doesn t look 
 like an owl, and try to think of something impressive 
 to say, as most of them do." "Them," in this ungal- 
 lant comparison, referring to the many fair ladies who 
 had delighted to honor Mr. Hamor with their presence 
 in his studio, their sympathy and approval. 
 
 Guenn s eyes were keen, her tongue was honest, her 
 spirit unintimidated. " If all art-critics were endowed, 
 by a merciful providence, with these excellent gifts ! " 
 groaned the young painter. She did not hesitate an 
 instant, but flung at each canvas in turn her rapid 
 judgment, based upon an original, but by no means a 
 valueless, system. Some of Douglas s and Staunton s 
 sketches were among the number. 
 
 "Well, there s an uncomfortable lot," exclaimed 
 Guenn, " crowded together, no room to breathe, and 
 the walls going to fall on their heads." 
 
 "A palpable hit for Douglas," was Hamor s mental 
 comment. " I told you so, my dear fellow, but you
 
 238 GUENN. 
 
 wouldn t believe me." He watched her with infinite 
 delight. 
 
 " Michel had better hurry ! Oh, he must reef fast ! " 
 she called excitedly. "Is it Jacques at the tiller? 
 Yes, it s Jacques. It s a pity they have nobody else to 
 help. Where s the mousse? Ah, it s an ugly squall, 
 and going to strike hard ! " 
 
 The picture was in Staunton s most vigorous style. 
 Hamor got up and walked over to her. " I actually 
 believe she has art feeling," he thought, looking at her 
 closely with an expression of positive respect on his 
 face. 
 
 Sketches by Hamor of people she knew seemed not 
 to impress her especially. She passed them by, with 
 indifferent comments. " Right again. They don t 
 amount to much," his conscience admitted. Then 
 came a large picture nearby completed, a happy combi 
 nation of the oft-recurring Jeanne and Victoria, this 
 time on a pile of planks down by the gray house, with 
 the faded green blinds, and the tall lilac-bushes. The 
 girls sat cagcrhy gossiping in shadow, their heads near 
 together, their knitting neglected, a cat playing with 
 a fallen ball of yarn. The hazy autumn sunshine 
 streamed warmly on the lilac leaves and flickered through 
 them upon the planks and on the back of Victoria s 
 coiffe and a bit of her fresh check and throat and down 
 her raiment of many colors. Hamor considered it the 
 best work he had done in Plouvenec. He smiled to 
 find himself awaiting the young girl s verdict with 
 interest. 
 
 " It s good and warm down there," Guenn remarked, 
 casting a glance of unfavorable comparison round the 
 damp and chilly garret. "If they mean to keep out 
 of the sun, they ll have to move over soon." Thee,
 
 GUENN. 239 
 
 bursting into a laugh, "Victoria is such a fool," she 
 explained candidly. "Now doesn t she look like a 
 fool with her long stupid nose, and her eyes like goose 
 berries ? " 
 
 Hamor privately agreed with her. Suddenly she 
 turned suspiciously towards Jeanne. " Jeanne, tell me 
 this instant, what you were talking about," she ex 
 claimed dictatorial!}-, a flash of jealous temper in her 
 eyes. "I ve told you often enough, Victoria is a sly 
 cat, and not to he trusted round the corner. I should n t 
 think you d be so bete as to sit there and tell her all you. 
 know. When she looks like that, she means to be 
 hateful every time ! Toil me, Jeanne, what were you. 
 saying? I don t care an old sabot for what she said. 
 It was all a pack of lies. But you, Jeanne!" She 
 stamped her foot, and waited with a lordly air for her 
 friend s appeasing answer. 
 
 "But it was nothing, Guenn," Jeanne said mildly. 
 " It was only posing, you know. I never spoke two 
 words to her the whole time. Monsieur will tell you 
 so. Monsieur did it." 
 
 Guenn looked inquiringly at them both. She saw 
 that she had displaj-ed too much zeal. She deigned to 
 be convinced, smiled brilliantly with an abrupt change 
 of the subject. " I know that cat ! " she said amiably. 
 
 How long it seemed since that same cat had coldly 
 turned his back upon her, and how much pleasanter it 
 was up here than wonying down in the dismal archwa} . 
 Having accepted the atelier, she accepted it without 
 condition or reserve. She forgot her fears and her 
 pride ; she forgot that she was gratifying her father ; 
 she forgot Thymert. 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie est amfere ! " 
 she began to hum in her volatile fashion. Jeanne
 
 240 GUENN. 
 
 sang too with a pleasant little voice. Ilamor was turn 
 ing his picture face to the wall again, with a profoundly 
 satisfied air, when he heard an exclamation from Guenn. 
 She had spied some foih, masks, and gloves, and was 
 regarding them with evident excitement. For once her 
 curiosity conquered her pride. "Do you wear those 
 tilings when you go to war?" she asked eagerly. 
 
 Ilamor wickedly said : "Yes." He felt a bo3*ish de 
 light in the situation, and acknowledged himself too 
 weak to resist the chance of making a favorable im 
 pression upon her martial spirit. 
 
 " Do all the men in your country wear such big gloves 
 when they go to war ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the traitor again. 
 
 Having satisfied her curiosity, Guenn recovered her 
 pride. "We don t," she said grandly. "We don t 
 wear any gloves when we fight. And our swords are 
 larger. The locksmith s sword is much larger, much." 
 
 "The locksmith?" 
 
 " Yes. Don t you know him?" with commiseration 
 for Monsieur Hamor s vain and unprofitable days, if 
 denied this boon. 
 
 "I know him as a locksmith, not as a soldier," he 
 suggested in humble apolog\". 
 
 " Well," began Guenn rapidly, " he was at the battle 
 of Solferino. That," she exclaimed with a vague and 
 superb gesture, "was in one of the wars which we 
 Bretons have fought against the heathen." 
 
 " Ah ! " remarked Ilamor soberhy, as if grateful for 
 the information. 
 
 " And his captain said to him, Victor ! The lock 
 smith s name was Victor ought to be is Victor. 
 It was an honor that the captain called him by his 
 petit nom. Victor, come here ! said the captain.
 
 GUENN. 241 
 
 " Oui, mon capitaine, said Victor." Guenn straight 
 ened herself and saluted. 
 
 " Drink from my flask, brother. It was an honor 
 that he said brother, and gave Victor his own flask," 
 she explained, with beautiful flashing eyes. 
 
 " Oui, mon capitaine, and Victor drank. 
 
 " Embrace me, brother. 
 
 " ; Oui, mon capitaine, and Victor embraced him. 
 
 " Take twelve men, and cut me a hole there 
 through the thickest of them. 
 
 " Oui, mon capitaine. " With each response Guenn 
 saluted. Now she threw out her left foot and wheeled, 
 read} to march off. 
 
 " You know it means death, brother, said the captain. 
 
 " Oui, mon capitaine, said Victor. 
 
 " And he went, with his twelve, and he cut the hole ; 
 and every one of the twelve was killed," she moved 
 and swayed, thrilled with strong feeling; "but the 
 blessed Virgin brought Victor back, only there is not an 
 inch on his brave breast " she clutched sympatheti- 
 cally at her kerchief "not scarred and seamed and 
 ploughed by bullets and sabres ! " 
 
 Ilamor looked from the girl s impassioned face to his 
 corpulent fencing-gloves, and felt honestly ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 Steps on the stairway and a knock at the door ushered 
 in Staunton and Douglas. Guenn, still absorbed in her 
 tale of battle, stared at them in a belligerent fashion, as 
 if she would fain demand how the} dared to intrude upon 
 her realm. 
 
 "Is it lunch time ? " asked Hamor. 
 
 "Quite," Staunton replied with a comprehensive 
 smile. 
 
 16
 
 242 GUENN. 
 
 " Well then, -wait, will 3*011? I am not going to work 
 in the atelier this afternoon," he said, turning to Jeanne, 
 and including Nannie and Guenn in his glance. " Will 
 you come to-morrow as usual ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jeanne dutifully. 
 
 " Nannie, of course, will come and go when he likes." 
 
 " Of course," echoed the gargoyle. 
 
 " And you, Guenn? " 
 
 "Perhaps," she answered brusquely. 
 
 "You don t find it unpleasant up here?" He bent 
 over her, standing vcrj* near. His voice was low and 
 caressing. 
 
 "It s well enough," she returned with a shrug, but 
 over the whole sensitive face trembled a warm, rich 
 color. Then she glanced with quick suspicion at the 
 two 3*oung men. Staunton harmlessly turned away and 
 looked out of the window. Douglas as harmless!}* stared 
 at her, like a schoolboy. 
 
 " I may expect you then? " Hamor said gently. 
 
 "Who knows?" she answered with her old indif 
 ference. 
 
 But Hamor knew that she would come. Her eloquent 
 ej r es gave the promise which her lips sought to withhold. 
 
 The three clattered cheerfulby down the stairway. 
 Staunton looked inquiringly at his friend. Hamor sat 
 down and broke into immoderate laughter. 
 
 " Well," said Douglas, " what s the joke ? Have you 
 gone mad?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I never in my life felt more suc 
 cessfully rational. But that girl, she s been here two 
 hours. She simply marched in and took possession. 
 There is n t a canvas, or a brush, or a rag that I can call 
 my own. She occupies this garret. She is magnificent. 
 Really I must laugh. I must let myself out a little. I
 
 GUENN. 
 
 243 
 
 shall give myself the whole afternoon to recuperate. It 
 is incredible," and he raised his eyes towards the rafters 
 in amused wonder. 
 
 " Well," said Douglas doubtfully, " I hope Mademoi 
 selle Rodellec will allow us to come in, now and then." 
 
 " She is the most beautiful girl I ever saw." Hamor 
 had grown thoughtful- " the most beautiful" 
 he repeated solemnly. 
 
 " We have heard all that before, and we do not doubt 
 it," Staunton remarked, looking at him with a curious 
 smile. " She is the most beautiful girl you ever saw, 
 and you are going to make a great picture of her, and 
 get the medal of honor, and fame and fortune." 
 
 " I am," asserted Hamor with absolute conviction. 
 
 " In the mean time," Staunton added dryly, " let us 
 go to lunch."
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 J\/fIZ DU," the black month," as the Bretons call 
 * ** November, was a profitable time for our painters. 
 If the working-days grew shorter and the whist-evenings 
 longer, the whole landscape had toned down from sum 
 mer brilliancy into the softness which is the painter s 
 joy and despair ; and over fields of waving flax, meadows 
 tufted with broom and gorse, and apple-trees mantled 
 in mistletoe, along every holly-grown mossy wall, 
 through the shadowy arches of the superb woods, the 
 deep-retreating chemin creux and the long reaches 
 towards the ba} T , lay an unspeakable glamour of 
 atmosphere and warmth of tone revealed, not lavishly, 
 but in beautiful touches here and there, with the reserve 
 of late autumn. 
 
 The young men worked chiefly out of doors, making 
 the most of the long series of fair da3 T s. Hamor, never 
 in better health and spirits, conscious of growing power, 
 buoyed by his indomitable hope and ambition, felt as
 
 GUENN. 245 
 
 free from care as a boy. Followed by one or all of big 
 suite, he made the most charming studies and sketches, 
 chiefly of Guenn in every possible attitude and situ 
 ation. 
 
 Meanwhile if he was studying Guenn, Guenn was 
 studying him. Not an expression, a gesture, a tone of 
 Hamor s passed unobserved. During the long hours in 
 which she silentby posed, and he was occupied with a 
 curve, a shadow, a subtle j outhful color, she in return 
 concentrated all the force of her intense nature upon 
 her speculations in regai d to him. While he painted 
 her on his canvas, she engraved him upon her heart. 
 He had indeed haunted her fancy from the first, but 
 the day she entered the studio, a new era began, and 
 all the passionate eagerness with which she had sought 
 to avoid and resist him was now employed in antici 
 pating his every wish. He was no longer like some 
 dominant object in the landscape impossible to over 
 look or ignore, do what one would ; but, like the sun 
 shine Guenn loved, he had become a part of her daily 
 existence. It seemed to her that she had never lived 
 before. She remembered with commiseration the old 
 Guenn who never knew what it was to rise in the 
 morning under the charm of a beautiful yesterday, 
 under the charm of an alluring to-da}*, kind looks 
 lingering in her memory, kind tones sounding in her 
 ears and thrilling her heart. She was radiantly happ}*. 
 To sit hour after hour before him, to be of use to him, 
 to receive the full approval of his animated face, to 
 follow every motion of his hand, to obey his faintest 
 suggestion, to wander about the beautiful country and 
 listen to his voice, for Hamor in some moods grew 
 extremely loquacious and enjoyed assuming a pleasantly 
 didactic tone with his following, all this was her joj
 
 246 GUENN. 
 
 and her life. She performed her other duties in a rest 
 less feverish way, eager to return to him. 
 
 By the river, much to Jeanne s distress, Guenn was 
 apt to be abstracted and suffered many great rhetorical 
 opportunities to pass by unobserved. But once when 
 the busy chroniclers of Plouvenec events were making 
 disparaging allusions to Monsieur Hamor, not in the 
 least because they disliked him, but because it seemed 
 to be, according to their ideas of the fitness of things, his 
 turn to serve as target, Guenn roused from her listless 
 soaping and pounding, colored brilliantly, sprang to her 
 feet in the old way, and treated them right and left, 
 innocent and guilty, to her indignant defence of Hamor, 
 finishing by a stormy attack of the whole washing 
 sisterhood. Mother Nives chuckled and sneered and 
 always knew it would end in this way, but the sudden 
 blazing up of Guenn Rodellec s temper was such an 
 every-day matter, that even the Nives did not suspect 
 the truth. Guenn rampant the} all understood. Guenn, 
 meek and passive, would naturally ai ouse curiosity. 
 Little Jeanne, who in these latter days often felt puzzled 
 and uncomfortable, glowed with delight to see her 
 assert herself with the old stormy spirit. 
 
 Meek she certainly was not. Cycles of spiritual dis 
 cipline would have been essential to instil meekness in 
 that hot and wayward heart. But she was so painful!}- 
 eager to please Ilamor, and her devotion to him was so 
 boundless, that she instinctively assumed at times an 
 outward quiet, and her quick brain was continually 
 receiving new impressions of that far-off world and that 
 different life which had produced this wondrous being 
 so unlike the men she had known. She was fond of her 
 old friends, but just now she seemed to have no time for 
 them. She grew less bold in her retorts, and evenings,
 
 GUENN. 247 
 
 on the common and along the qua} , found no amuse 
 ment in paying the sailors in their own coin, whether 
 they were sportive Avith rough jokes or friendly pushes. 
 Their coarse voices seemed strange to her. She had 
 accustomed herself to a finely modulated tone. Their 
 ways began to jar upon her. She had grown used to 
 something different. Monsieur Ilainor did not swear 
 in her presence. Monsieur Hamor was never violent. 
 Monsieur Ilamor had fine white linen handkerchiefs and 
 narrow polished nails. She would fasten her eyes upon 
 his firm well-shaped hands and follow their movements 
 with indescribable fascination. Sometimes he gently 
 turned her head to the right or left, up or down, moved 
 her shoulders, ^^ ^ hat wonder, after that, that she 
 resented the grimy touch of Lo ic or even of honest 
 Alain? Once indeed she spoke irritably to Alain, who 
 did not deserve it, if his breath did smell of grog instead 
 of cigarettes and if his Jersey was not a painter s brown 
 velveteen coat. The tears started to her eyes, and she 
 ran quickly after him to toll him she was sorry, which 
 made him happy for many a da} . But he would have 
 been less content had he known that she was waiting 
 there alone in the shadow only to see once more before 
 she slept the face she had seen all day long. She 
 knew where the light would strike it when he came out 
 of the door of the Grand, the beautiful face shining 
 always before her now. Guenn trembled and flushed 
 with joy as it finally passed by in the night. Her heart 
 was so full of worship for this man, she longed to lie at 
 his feet and die of the rapture of having his glance rest 
 kindly upon her. She forgot to sing with the other girls. 
 She was always waiting for the music of his voice. 
 
 Meanwhile Hamor was in a high state of satisfaction. 
 He told his friends that Guenn was the most perfectly
 
 248 GUENN. 
 
 sympathetic model he had ever had. " Her intelligence 
 is remarkable," he would say ; " she obeys the quiver 
 of an ej elash. When I think there was once a possi 
 bility that I could n t have her, well, it fills ine even 
 now with rage. I m making studies of her, to use for 
 all the rest of my life. I never expect to find such a 
 beauty again." 
 
 " She ll be as prominent in your pictures as Andrea 
 del Sarto s wife in his," suggested Staunton quietly. 
 
 " A\ r ell, yes, only in my case it s pure utility and no 
 infatuation. Mrs. Andrea del Sarto and all her tribe 
 would have wasted their sweetness on me." 
 
 "Unquestionably," said Staunton, at which Hamor 
 looked at him and laughed. 
 
 Being, as we have seen, an amiably disposed man, 
 Hamor, aside from Guenn s art-importance to him, 
 " really liked the little thing." There was much which 
 amused him in his intercourse with these Breton chil 
 dren, and it seemed to him that, without unpleasantly 
 accentuating the role of pedagogue, his sojourn in 
 Plouvenec might be in many respects useful to them. 
 Various things which Guenn did the first day she did 
 not do the third. He remarked that she was singularly 
 impressionable, had in fact a sixth sense in matters of 
 her own improvement, and never needed to be told any 
 thing twice. If he raised his eyebrows significantly, 
 when she freely touched his books with her little brown 
 hands, he noticed, with approval of his sj stem, that she 
 never did it again. She had her moments of insubordi 
 nation, of temper, of haughtiness even with him, but 
 he knew how to subdue her, and his gentle voice soon 
 brought her not cnby to terms but to keen repentance, 
 while Nannie looked wisely from one to the other, and 
 Jeanne waited patiently until the storm was past. Ha-
 
 GUENN. 249 
 
 mor had his crystallized theories, and was curiously 
 proud of his influence ; but, clever as he thought 
 himself, his philosophy failed to grasp the situation. 
 
 A little episode in the atelier might have enlightened 
 him, had he taken the trouble to interpret it. A friend 
 from Paris came to Plouvenec for a couple of days. 
 Hamor placed his studio, models, and all his belongings 
 at the stranger s service. It pleased him as it had 
 pleased manj- before him to make a study of Jeanne 
 knitting in a dormer window, with a delicious tracery 
 of cobwebs above her charming head, and a gleam of 
 golden lichens on the roof, seen through the broken 
 panes. Sensible little Jeanne seated herself with her 
 matter-of-fact air. She was as familiar with that particu 
 lar pose as she was with her dinner. It seemed to her 
 that she was born to knit on that stone window-seat, with 
 a strange young man plnnte la, his easel, busy hand, 
 and intent face alwa\ s before her. Sometimes the eyes 
 were brown, sometimes blue ; sometimes the nose was 
 long, sometimes short ; sometimes the mustaches curled 
 up, sometimes down, still it was the old story. 
 " He is the eleventh," reflected Jeanne, suppressing a 
 yawn ; " the tenth had no mustache. It is beUer 
 than packing fish," philosophically, " and yet I am 
 a little tired of the window, and also of the boxes ; I 
 have sat sixteen times on the boxes ! " 
 
 The stranger worked rapidhy. Hamor, at liis end of 
 the room, was equally absorbed in his own affairs. 
 Every one was veiy silent. Now and then, Nannie 
 breathed rather loud, then chuckled as if occupied with 
 irresistibly pleasing thoughts. No one noticed him. 
 Guenn, in a difficult pose with a water-jug, stood un 
 wearying hour after hour, her luminous eyes devouring 
 Hamor s face. At length the guest said :
 
 250 GUENN. 
 
 " Will you come here a moment, Hamor?" 
 
 Hamor said, " Rest, Guenn," and walked across the 
 room. 
 
 " What s the trouble? " asked the stranger. 
 
 Hamor looked sharply from the model to the picture. 
 
 " Chin," he answered abrupti} . 
 
 " Ah, yes ; " after a moment, " Is that better? " 
 
 " I think so. Your color in the dark corner there is 
 delicious. You always did that sort of thing well," 
 Hamor said heartily. " But is n t the dress rather 
 chic ? " 
 
 "Well, I don t know," his friend said, smiling, without 
 offering to make it rougher, dirtier, and truer. lie ad 
 mired Hamor, but he also had his own ideas. 
 
 Jeanne was very prett} T to-day, in her faded, rusty 
 greens, smiling over her knitting with a sweet, con 
 tented air. Hamor went over to her, took her head in 
 both his hands, posed it as he wished, talking rapidly, 
 and looking over his shoulder at his friend, his face 
 brilliant with a sudden enthusiasm : " You have made 
 her too old ; we alwaj S make their faces too old. The 
 3 outh in them is too subtle to reproduce. Look at the 
 tenderness of modelling in this child s cheek and throat ; 
 was there ever airything like that?" 
 
 He smiled with delight, then shook his head with a 
 little sigh over the elusive character of this dawning 
 beauty, and turned to meet Guenn s eyes fixed upon 
 him with a piteous, hungry look in them. He had 
 spoken English ; she had not understood a word. Sue 
 was not angry with Jeanne, but it seemed to her some 
 thing was clutching her heart. "What, what} is the 
 little thing jealous of her friend s prettincss?" he 
 thought carelessby : "heaven knows she has no occa 
 sion." Whistling softly, he resumed his work, the
 
 GUENN. 251 
 
 moment passed ; if Guenn remembered it, it was only 
 to look wistfully at Jeanne, and wonder what it was 
 monsieur had said as he smiled and touched her cheeks. 
 
 Again, in the little churchj ard at Beuzec, he saw the 
 same look in her eyes. It was a place Hamor liked. 
 His imagination was always active when he sat in that 
 ancient graveyard before the tall, quaint, stone crucifix, 
 the steps crumbling away, worn hollow by kneeling 
 penitents for centuries. The graveyard where children 
 played, and paths led familiarly in every direction for 
 the convenience of the villagers, who used it to shorten 
 distances, both touched and amused him. He thought 
 the church in its queer enclosure, with the houses crowd 
 ing cheerfully about its high wall, a unique gem. There 
 were lovely grays in its old granite ; its lozenge panes 
 delighted him ; its grotesquely carved faces were as 
 amusing as Nannie s own. Its rude sculpture, speci 
 mens of curious old Breton art, probably all done by 
 zealous souls in the little hamlet, were not without 
 charm. He liked leisurely to decipher nearby illegible 
 inscriptions and strange Breton names. 
 
 Hamor was one of that species of amiable man capa 
 ble of remarking, in the solemn moment of parting for 
 years from a woman who loved him, and whom he was 
 supposed to love: "Your friend is the very most 
 charming woman I ever saw," and this with the 
 kindliest, warmest smile directed dreamily to his love s 
 absent friend. So pronounced a tendency to irrele 
 vance not to use a harsher word could not be 
 pleasing or comprehensible to any woman, however 
 liberal and unexacting she might be. When one is 
 obliged to send one s love-messages through a tele 
 phone, it is scarcely as agreeable as the consciousness 
 of close proximity. Hamor often placed himself under
 
 252 GUENN. 
 
 telephonic conditions. It was something of the kind 
 that wounded Guenn at Beuzec. 
 
 Haraor had wanted a walk, and strolled over to the 
 old church. He allowed Jeanne and Guenn to come, 
 in case he should happen to need them. Nannie never 
 said whether he were coming or not, but liked to appear 
 mysteriously ; and in all his whims and idiosyncrasies 
 Hamor indulged him fullv. 
 
 O f 
 
 Guenn was in high spirits, rosy, the incarnation of 
 mischief. She had begun to grasp the idea that there 
 might be still a few things for her to learn under a roof, 
 but surely in the open air one could do as one pleased. 
 Here was no private property one should not finger, no 
 doors one should not slam, no brother artists or lady 
 visitors at whom one should not scowl or sulk or turn 
 one s back or stare rudely. In the small society of 
 to-day there was no one whom she wished to call a fool. 
 Monsieur seemed to object to her free use of this word. 
 Wh}*, Guenn could not imagine. Surely, if one was a 
 fool, it was best to sa}- so outright. This method saved 
 time ; and indeed there were so man}- fools. However, 
 if it pleased monsieur when she bit her tongue in two, 
 rather than say what was perfectly evident, she was 
 only too glad to make the sacrifice for his sake. Nan 
 nie was never a fool : he was wiser than all the world. 
 Jeanne was good and sensible, nice little Jeanne ; 
 Guenn rarely called her a fool unless in a very bad 
 temper ; and indeed it was seldom that she was cross 
 with her. As to hands, feet, knees, and elbows, there 
 were mysterious hints which Guenn s mind had im 
 bibed, but, as yet, imperfectly digested. To-day she 
 was glad to leave it all. To-day she was unconsciously 
 relieved to drop this vast burden of newly acquired 
 knowledge behind her in the atelier. Rejoicing, she
 
 GUENN. 253 
 
 looked up to the tree-tops and the sk3 T and drew long 
 breaths of the cool autumn air, and in her old freedom 
 jumped such ditches and walls as seemed to have been 
 placed there by benevolent powers for purely jump 
 ing purposes. She was irresistibly charming, Ham or 
 thought ; and, as for her boyish ways, he knew many 
 nice girls at home who would enjoy doing all that 
 she did, who would do it, too, if the surroundings 
 were propitious, older girls than Guenn, and she was 
 only sixteen or seventeen. All healthy girls must like 
 such things. There was that nice little Danish artist 
 working at Nevin : how well she did it ! As for Guenn, 
 there were no preliminaries or pauses in her method : 
 she jumped the low walls with one bound ; swung her 
 self over the higher ones with a swift hand-spring, like 
 a man ; and the grace and buoyancy of her movements 
 were a constant delight and wonder to Hamor. She 
 drank in his approval with happj* excitement. She was 
 living intensely in the moment : for her there was no 
 past, no future. 
 
 Reaching the churchyard, Hamor seated himself on 
 the ivy-grown wall and silently sketched the simple, 
 noble proportions and the tender tones of granite, moss, 
 and iv}* of the little church. " If I don t do something 
 with this," he said reflectively, communing, as was often 
 his habit, ehiefi} T with himself, yet graciously permitting 
 his satellites to catch his meaning, " I may be sorry 
 when I m gone for good. I never saw anything else 
 in quite this character : the whole expression of it is 
 unique in its vigorous Breton simplicity and local color. 
 I must make something of the chance before I go," he 
 muttered. " Shall I leave it still and erupt}*, with its 
 own cachet? Shall I fill it with peasants, say Guenn 
 as bride, and a brilliant, nois}* train? "
 
 254 GUENN. 
 
 He turned to consider her acting in this capacity, 
 blushing, shy, yet saucy, surrounded by a troop of 
 brightly dressed maidens. He saw the whole cortege, 
 the 5 u n g men w ith peacocks feathers in their hats ; 
 rich old Breton embroideries, in silver and blue and- 
 scarlet ; the gleam of the coiffes ; the musicians with 
 bagpipes. But where was the bonny bride? Here was 
 only a girl pale as death staring strangel} at him, - 
 shivering as if from cold. He passed his hand over his 
 eyes, then frowned slightly : she had destroyed the 
 charming vision. She had disturbed him. 
 
 " What s the matter, Guenn?" he said coldly. 
 
 "Are you going, monsieur?" she stammered. 
 
 " Going? " he had forgotten his own words. " No 
 not }*et perhaps not for an hour." 
 
 " I mean are you going away from Plouvenec?" 
 
 He stared at her. For some imperceptible reason 
 she irritated him. Why should she be turning this 
 white imploring face up to his? He wanted to compose 
 pictures. "Why yes of course sometime," he 
 answered indifferently. 
 
 " When?" persisted the girl. 
 
 " When I have done all the work I wish to do here. 
 I suppose when I ve absorbed whatever this place 
 can offer me," he replied carelessly. "Then I shall 
 study elsewhere." 
 
 Guenn turned, and walked abruptly into the church- 
 porch out of his sight. 
 
 "What possesses the girl?" reflected Hamor on the 
 wall. " No doubt she is disappointed, but why should 
 she be tragic? She s fond of me, I admit. Why not? 
 It s perfectly natural. I have influence over her. I am 
 good to her, and she has seen very few decent men. As 
 for taking it seriously, as Staunton would have me, I can t
 
 GUENN. 255 
 
 and won t. All women and children like me why 
 shouldn t Guenu? It s only a passing gidish fane} , 
 and she 11 get over it and marry Alain. But one thing is 
 certain : she will lose her spirit her greatest charm 
 if she grows sentimental. She has n t the features for 
 tragedy. I must keep her jolty. It s disturbing when 
 she sulks. What more can I do? I could n t fall in 
 love with the child, to save my soul ; and nothing 
 would induce me to have any sort of a flirtation with 
 her. The main thing now is to get on as fast as possi 
 ble with the boat-picture. What are those little rascals 
 doing?" He looked with a smile towards the opposite 
 wall near which Nannie and Jeanne were sitting com 
 fortably on the corner grave, eating dry coarse bread. 
 
 " Children," he called. He was often very paternal 
 in his manner to the three. " Come across the way. 
 I ll see if I can find some cider for you." 
 
 The}* entered the nearest small, dark stone house. 
 There were two rooms on the ground floor, and ladders 
 leading up to sleeping places in the roof. Hamor no 
 ticed the usual lit clos looming up behind the bench and 
 table, the usual splendid old oak and fairly good carv 
 ing, the stone floor and enormous fireplace. The two 
 women there spoke no French, but Hamor always man 
 aged well with signs and smiles ; then to-da} the little 
 Bretons could interpret for him. They drank their cider 
 and were meny. Guenn remained alone, hidden in a 
 corner of the old porch. 
 
 The 3 ounger woman had a lovely boy, eighteen 
 months old, on her knee. Attracted by the child s 
 beaut} , Hamor bent over him with his gentlest smile, 
 anticipating the success he usually met with, in taming 
 young animals. But the sturdy Breton infant screwed 
 his fists into his eyes, turned his back, opened his mouth
 
 256 GUENN. 
 
 to its widest possibilities, and emitted a prolonged howl 
 of mingled rage and fear. Hamor s face fell. He was 
 curiously disconcerted. The women apologized, but 
 nothing but Hamor s departure would pacify the irate 
 baby. Hamor left the house crestfallen. " Curious 
 how so small a thing can disturb a man," he mused. 
 His discomfiture abode with him, and indeed he said 
 openly to the children, "I can t say how sorry I am 
 to have frightened that pretty bo} . I am soft-hearted 
 towards such tiny things. I hate to give them pain." 
 More than once on the way home, he deigned to express 
 his regret at this occurrence, and it was perfectly evi 
 dent to Jeanne and Nannie that the baby s repulse was 
 rather a serious matter to Monsieur Hamor. 
 
 Returning to the gravej-ard in a somewhat softened 
 mood, he occupied himself with a ver}* small and obscure 
 grave, neglected and covered with brambles, " Yves 
 Hernadan two years old." Every line of his face 
 expressed sympathy with the dead boy, delight in his 
 speculations about this far-removed, unknown being. 
 Guerm had stolen out from her refuge, her heart tender 
 and full of self-reproach. Apart from the others, she 
 watched Hamor as he bent over the grave. " A little 
 ash, a little oak, a little nettle," he murmured, smil 
 ing lovingly into the far-off past, separating with his fine 
 hands the rough growth on Yves Hernadan s grave. 
 " Poor little soul ! Rest in peace. If you are not at rest 
 after four hundred } ears, 3-011 11 never be." Guenn 
 stole near and listened. Why did he care about Yves 
 Hernadan? Why did he smile in that far-off way? 
 Why would he not give her one kind look? Was it her 
 fault that her heart ached ? 
 
 "A little ash, a little oak," repeated Hamor, "a 
 little " Guenn could not bear it. The abstracted
 
 GUENN. 257 
 
 smile on his face, the voluntary concentration of his 
 thoughts upon an utterly unknown being, dead four 
 centuries, maddened her. She flung up her arms with a 
 cry of rage. 
 
 " I hate that Yves Hernadan ! " she exclaimed passion 
 ately, then like an arrow sprang over the wall, and they 
 saw her cross the field on a dead run. 
 
 "Upon my word!" said Hamor, standing up and 
 watching her ; then looked pleasantly from Nannie to 
 Jeanne with a shrug as if he would say : "I wash my 
 hands in innocence." Suddenly, his face changed. "It 
 would n t after all be possible for her to desert me alto 
 gether?" Guenn was out of sight. Already he missed 
 her vivid beauty. It occurred to him that he had per 
 haps felt too secure of this creature of most uncertain 
 mood. "If only she ll sta} with me, until I paint her 
 in the old ferry-boat, she may devote the rest of her life 
 to the exercise of her angry passions. At all events, 
 the sooner I go to work in earnest with her the better." 
 
 " She 11 come again, again, again," chanted 
 Nannie solemnly, his crooked, crossed arms resting on 
 a low tombstone. 
 
 " I believe you, Solomon," Hamor said, laughing. 
 
 Jeanne was well pleased. This was as it should be. 
 Guenn watching monsieur with great wretched eyes 
 was not to her taste. It destroyed her traditions. 
 Guenn in a fine fury filing over the churchyard wall 
 was a perfectly simple and natural episode, and Jeanne 
 felt greatly relieved. Obedience and gentleness too 
 long continued on the part of Guenn Rodellec, filled 
 her friend with vague anxietj". So unnatural a condi 
 tion of tilings must be dangerous, she reasoned. 
 
 Guenn did indeed come again. After the manner of 
 womankind she reproached herself for the blow mon- 
 
 17
 
 258 GUENN. 
 
 sieur had given her, and was eager for another one. 
 She tremblingly haunted the shadows of the common 
 that night, and saw her hero pass twice. She clasped 
 her hands and held her breath as he came near ; but 
 he did not see her or think of her indeed. He was 
 chatting amiably, explaining some American institutions 
 to the chief of the police, who was listening with inter 
 est, as one always listened to ce gentil Monsieur Hamor. 
 Guenn heard his voice, and the odor of his cigarette 
 reached in the darkness before she could see him. She 
 breathed it in with a kind of painful ecstasy. She 
 loved even the cloud of cigarette smoke that revealed 
 the presence of her divinit} . And the time was coming 
 when he would be gone? when she would not be pos 
 ing for him all clay long in the atelier, in the woods 
 or on the meadow? when the others would sit at the 
 tables with their little glasses and not he? when she 
 could not see his face or hear his voice, because he 
 would be gone? No! It was impossible. She could 
 not grasp the thought. Something would happen. 
 With this she began to take comfort. Yes, surely 
 something would happen. All her courage and hope 
 rose to convince her that something must, indeed, 
 happen before such misery should blast her life. 
 
 She was punctual at the studio the next morning. 
 Hamor thought she looked pale. " I must take care 
 that she does not lose her color," he thought with 
 some anxiet} . " Pacification is the word without, of 
 course, lessening my influence." Hamor had profound 
 respect for what he called his influence. He sent 
 Jeanne and Nannie on an ingeniously devised errand 
 with ramifications. 
 
 "Guenn," he said, "I want to talk seriously with 
 you."
 
 GUENN. 259 
 
 She looked as if she should enjoy nothing better 
 than having him talk seriously with her. If he would 
 only look at her and realize her existence, she could be 
 happy. If he would not lose himself in musings over 
 graves and unendurable dead children. She raised her 
 lovely eyes to his gravely, and waited for him to begin. 
 She had fallen in one of her pretty careless attitudes 
 on the window-seat. Ilamor resisted his inclination to 
 sketch her. 
 
 He was not fortunate in the selection of his first 
 theme. Tact may forsake the wisest of us in critical 
 moments. It seemed as if the spirit of one of Hamor s 
 parson ancestors of a remote and rigid period had 
 taken possession of the young man. He began a homily 
 upon the vice of yielding to a hot temper and the virtue 
 of self-control, fairly wrestled with Guenn s delinquencies 
 as it was the pristine habit of his race to wrestle with 
 the unregenerate and the backslider. Then he en 
 deavored to picture to her the perfections of the ideal 
 girl who never swings herself over a wall in a rage. 
 
 The ideal girl did not appear to make much impres 
 sion upon Guenn. Indeed she began to look rosy and 
 happy again. Under this personal attention, she re 
 vived, and listened contentedly to Hamor s voice 
 running on in uninterrupted eloquence. 
 
 Presently he paused with some impatience. " Am I a 
 fool or a hypocrite or both ? " he asked himself can 
 didly. " What do I care for the girl s temper or man 
 ners? I only care for my picture." He walked 
 across the studio once or twice, returned to the dormer- 
 window with a completely changed expression. The 
 parson had disappeared. Here was only the painter. 
 
 "Guenn," he said eagerly, "never mind yesterday. 
 I won t preach any more. Jump over all the walls in
 
 200 GUENN. 
 
 4 
 
 Plonvenec at the risk of 3*our life and fly into a passion 
 every day if 3-011 like, but help me where I need you. 
 Help me, Guenn." 
 
 She started up electrified. His tone thrilled her 
 through and through. 
 
 " You can help me and no one else. See, I talk plainly 
 with you because you arc sensible. I told you long 
 ago, in the boat that day, that I care for 1113- art and 
 only for 1113 art. It is the truth. There is nothing, 
 nobod3 , that I would not sacrifice to that. You cannot 
 comprehend it. I don t expect 3 ou to. But perhaps 
 3 T ou can understand me when I tell you it is a matter of 
 life and death to me to paint the picture I have in my 
 mind my great picture 3^011 " 
 
 Guenn stood near him, breathing fast, her impassioned 
 63 T es fixed upon his. She could help him, she ! Not 
 be used simpby as a tool, like his brush or his can 
 vas, but help him intelligently. He was appealing to 
 her to do it ! 
 
 " If 3 r ou sulk and make scenes and grow pale," he 
 continued, " 3*011 won t help me. I hate scenes. 
 Women alwa3 s make scenes when a man is overworked 
 and nervous. You made a scene j-esterday and inter 
 rupted m3 train of thought. Don t do it again." 
 Guenn was dumb with shame and remorse. "Of 
 course, I am going away some time. Could 3*ou expect 
 me to sta3 r in this place forever? But I m not going 
 3 et, not for a long time." The girl s face grew radiant 
 with delight. "And wlr) not help me, then, while I 
 sta3*. Why not be ni3* friend, and do all 3*ou can for me 
 and what I love best ? Why not be large-hearted and 
 generous ? Why not stand shoulder to shoulder with me 
 in 1113 best work? And after I am gone can I indeed 
 control nry going ? wiry not be able to sa3 , 1 helped
 
 GUENN. 261 
 
 him I was his friend? See, Guenn, when you sulk 
 and grow pale and jealous and haggard, you are of no 
 use to me. It is your beaut} I need, not your small 
 moods that may destroy it. Good heavens, child ! can t 
 3 T ou understand what a picture is to a man? Can t 
 you lend yourself to a large thought? Well, then, 
 consider, and try to rise above whatever is mean and 
 petty in 3-011. I could not speak more honestly, 
 could I?" 
 
 He could not, indeed ; but he need not have spoken 
 with that rich, eloquent voice ; he need not have looked 
 in her eyes as a lover looks. 
 
 "You are beautiful, Guenn: be beautiful for me," 
 pleaded the tender, persuasive tones. 
 
 Ah, the rapture of that moment ! To hear her beauty 
 praised by this man who was a god to her ! The beauty 
 she had worn so carelessly was precious in his eyes. 
 She could help him, only she. She drew herself up 
 superbly. Was Victor so proud as this when his cap 
 tain in the great battle with the heathen said : " Drink 
 from m} r flask, brother " ? Hamor might have studied 
 weeks and not found what accident and his supreme 
 selfishness had suddenly suggested to him, the way 
 to win, not Guenn s heart, for that indeed he had alwa3 r s 
 had ; but her highest effort for him at any cost. Her 
 soul was quivering under his skilful touch ; the strong 
 est chords of her nature were responding to his ap 
 peal, her love, her Ioyalt3", her ambition, and that 
 peculiar sense of isolation, of being unlike the others, 
 which she, the cleverest, merriest, most daring girl in 
 the village, had borne through all her work and pla3 r , 
 her laughter, songs, and unconscionable despotism. 
 
 Hamor was gratified by the evident success of his 
 influence. He held out his hand with a charmingty in-
 
 262 GUENN. 
 
 dulgent smile. u Well, it is settled? Will you help 
 me, then?" 
 
 How beautiful the child was ! What was it in this 
 girl that illumined her face so marvellously? Now 
 as she stood, there was something heroic yet tender in 
 her whole being. It was merely a question of posing, 
 but one would say only high thoughts were animating 
 her ardent spirit. 
 
 She lifted her hand and laid it in his. " Whatever 
 comes," she said solemnly. 
 
 Hamor looked down with faint amusement at the small 
 brown thing lying on his palm. Guenn s eyes were 
 wet and beautiful ; her face looking up to his was full 
 of the touching loveliness of extreme 3 r outh, and of the 
 exaltation of a noble love. She was trembling a little, 
 he noticed. Suddenly she stooped and laid her cheek 
 on his hand. It was the lightest, shyest touch, as if 
 some little wild thing of the woods had offered him a 
 furtive caress. Hamor, as he often virtuous!}- told him 
 self, was not the kind of man to indulge in any species 
 of " affair " with his models : he had no interest in that 
 sort of thing, and then, as an honest man, he liked these 
 imtutored children to feel that they could trust him. 
 But in spite of his exemplary theories, in spite of the 
 cumulative influence of his whole august ancestral row 
 of Puritan divines, the soft touch of the girl s innocent 
 cheek in its pure homage and sweet surrender moved 
 him strangely ; and before the pretty little coiffed head, 
 with the curly brown hair clustering in rings at the back 
 of the slender neck, was lifted, he had flung his left arm 
 warmly across her shoulders. 
 
 Gueun did not belong to the commonplace melting 
 type of womankind : at a touch she did not yield. 
 Every honest fisher-girl in Plouvenec knew from expe-
 
 GUENN. 263 
 
 rience what to do when any one, high or low, permitted 
 himself a familiarity. If it had been Alain, she would 
 have repaid him with a well-aimed blow. This was 
 Plouvenec etiquette. But it was not Alain : it was 
 monsieur; and if monsieur had said, " Guenn, I am 
 going to cut you in tiny pieces to help my great pic 
 ture," she would have been proud and glad as she was 
 now. Still not in vain was she Guenn Rodellec. Like 
 a flash she slipped from his grasp when he had scarcely 
 touched her, and with one of her free bounds stood 
 facing him at a safe distance, radiantly happy, laugh 
 ing, glowing, looking at him without the slightest em 
 barrassment, but with exquisite maidenliness. 
 
 Hamor lighted a cigarette with palpable unconcern, 
 and formulated several new theories. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Guenn, with an indescribable com 
 bination of sweetness and mirth in her voice, " I don t 
 hate that four-hundred-year-old baby to-da} ." 
 
 " Well, I m glad to hear that. It was inhuman of 
 you." 
 
 " Dead is dead," said the girl, with a snap of her 
 fingers : " we are alive." 
 
 u You are, at least : nobody can deny that." 
 
 She laughed brightly. All her old playfulness had 
 returned. She was the new Guenn, the old Guenn, the 
 same Guenn, a different Guenn, many Guenns in one; 
 but fresh, fearless, bewitching, as best became her. 
 Hamor congratulated himself heartily upon the re-trans 
 formation. 
 
 " When shall we begin?" she asked confidently. 
 
 " Ah, there are some difficulties : I must consult with 
 you." 
 
 "Well?" she inquired, folding her arms with a 
 business-like air.
 
 264 GUENN. 
 
 " I want you in the scow at the ferry- way, as you 
 were that day. I can do my background well enough 
 from a boat, but I suppose 3*011 could n t pose 
 there?" 
 
 "No: I couldn t, positively: at least I could; but 
 the passeur would always be wanting his boat ; and 
 then " with her delicious laugh "I should be al 
 ways hopping up to chase the bo3 s away and punch 
 their heads." 
 
 " We might hire somebody to punch the boys heads," 
 he suggested gravely. 
 
 " We might," dubiousby, " but I run faster than any 
 one else." 
 
 "True, Guenn ; but you do everything better than 
 any one else. You pose best, you know ; and obviously 
 3*ou can t pose and chastise bo3 S at the same moment 
 and do full justice to them and me. I feared the spot 
 might be too much of a public thoroughfare. You are 
 sure the boys would flock there ? " 
 
 "Millions!" exclaimed Guenn, with an expansive 
 sweep of both arms. 
 
 " Then what shall we do? " 
 
 Guenn, thinking earnest^, her hands on her hips, her 
 head on one side, paced the atelier with her free step. 
 
 " I was mad to think of taming the girl," reflected 
 Hamor, watching her closely: " she has grown beauti- 
 tiful this ver3* morning. She requires her freedom. I 
 am on the right track now." 
 
 "Monsieur," she said, stopping abruptby and facing 
 him, "3 T ou see wherever I go they will come." 
 " Naturally." 
 
 " If they hear Guenn Rodellec is posing anywhere on 
 the shore, the whole village will rush pell-mell to see." 
 "Of course."
 
 GUENN. 265 
 
 " Jeanne could do it : I can not," she remarked with 
 the simplicity of true greatness. 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 "I ll tell 3 ou what, monsieur; }*ou just make your 
 walls and your slimy stone steps, and when you want 
 me we will go to the Lannions." 
 
 " Guenn, you clever girl, you genius ! " 
 
 " The good cure will help us," she added cheerfully. 
 
 "You have made the best possible suggestion," he 
 said with enthusiasm. "The Lannions by all means, 
 and then I can get him too : Guenn, you ought to be 
 prime minister." ^ 
 
 She had no idea what that might be, but she knew 
 it was something pleasant, for monsieur was looking at 
 her with a strongly approving smile. 
 
 When Jeanne and Nannie s voices sounded again on 
 the stairway, Guenn was singing 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie cst amere," 
 
 in the merriest way in the world, a sure sign to the 
 initiated that she was in unclouded spirits ; while Ha- 
 mor, silent and preoccupied, was tacking paper on a 
 frame for a lai ge study. 
 
 Nannie threw a sly glance at each, then gravely oc 
 cupied his boxes. Present!} , in a low and mysterious 
 tone, he began a monotonous chant in Breton. The two 
 girls looked at each other and laughed, first softly, then 
 with unrestrained heartiness. Hamor turned inquir 
 ingly. 
 
 "He is making a famous Breton chant," Guenn ex 
 plained with mingled pride and amusement. "He can 
 make very good ones. It is a pity monsieur cannot un 
 derstand the words : Nannie is so droll." 
 
 The boy, unmoved by the comments of his audi-
 
 266 GUENN. 
 
 ence, sang on as if for his own exclusive edification. 
 His eyes were raised and fixed upon a point in a distant 
 beam ; not a muscle of bis face betrayed the faintest 
 consciousness of his surroundings. 
 
 "But what is the little rascal saying?" demanded 
 Hamor. 
 
 " He began like this, only it doesn t sound the same 
 in French, 3*011 know." Gucnn and Jeanne laughed, 
 looked at each other again with much embarrassment. 
 "With whatever hardships fate had strewed their path, 
 these happy Breton fish-girls were up to this moment 
 in blessed ignorance of the pain and anxiety resulting 
 from small literaiy efforts. Some subtle and healthy 
 instinct of self-preservation made them now blush and 
 hesitate before taking one step on this dangerous 
 ground. 
 
 " Well," Hamor said encouragingly. 
 
 " Is it a bird, or is it a fish, 
 
 O waves, waves ; 
 A bird that flies, a fish that swims, 
 
 O waves, O waves ? 
 A little white boat that flies and swims " 
 
 Guenn hesitated, and Jeanne went on : 
 
 " Under the clouds, out on the sea, 
 O waves, O waves." 
 
 Guenn resumed briskly : - 
 
 " What do I see in the little white boat, 
 
 waves, O waves ; 
 Under the clouds, out on the sea, 
 
 waves, O waves 1 
 A fisherman with a long brown beard ? 
 No fisherman sails the little white boat, 
 
 O waves, O waves.
 
 GUENN. 267 
 
 " A tall dark man, in a long black robe, 
 
 O waves, waves, 
 Under the clouds, out on the sea, 
 
 O waves, O waves, 
 
 In the little white boat that flies and swims 
 The dark man sails, and sails to shore, 
 
 O waves, waves." 
 
 This original production was rendered into Plouvenec- 
 French with frequent pauses and more or less irrelevant 
 discussion between the two young girls. Once, as a 
 lapse of memory threatened to swamp the little white 
 boat, a shrill voice from the boxes suggested the missing 
 line, and again an involuntary childish giggle, instantly 
 suppressed, betrayed Nannie s huge delight in the situ 
 ation ; but when they looked at him he was crooning to 
 himself, his eyes raised in complete unconsciousness to 
 the rafters. 
 
 "Now I call that very fine," said Hamor gravely: 
 "I like that very much, particularly O waves, O 
 waves ; it reminds me of something, upon my word it 
 does ; but what is it all about? " 
 
 "Oh, he can go on all clay," Guenn explained with 
 pride, "that s all we could remember, but he s been 
 going on ever since. He s singing still about the dark 
 man ; he s landed him now." She laughed, and looked 
 lovingly at the little farceur. "He is only making a 
 chant, you know, telling a story, it does n t mean any 
 thing." 
 
 But as Ilamor detected a leer of infinite malice on 
 the gargoyle s features, he said carelessl} : "I don t 
 know whether it does or not : we shall see. Come, 
 Guenn, let us try this in the rough. If I had a boat 
 here, and an oar ; not a little white boat by an}* means, 
 but a big, ugly scow " 
 
 " I can bring you an oar," cried Jeanne eagerly.
 
 268 GUENN. 
 
 Hamor was soon nervously throwing upon the paper, 
 in rapid, rough, apparently crazy charcoal strokes, and 
 unintelligible masses of shadow, his first conception of 
 his " great picture." 
 
 Meanwhile, whether Nannie had made his discovery 
 by force of imagination or of his extremely obser 
 vant eyes, a little white boat, in point of fact, had ap 
 proached the shore, and a tall dark man, in a long 
 black robe, had landed, and was looking with kind ej es 
 in familiar faces, and exchanging cordial greetings with 
 every man, woman, and child he met. Thymert had 
 not come over to Plouvenec in several weeks. To-day 
 a little matter of business summoned him, and it oc 
 curred to him that he ought not to delay longer his visit 
 to Monsieur Hamor. The cure", as a rule, did not recog 
 nize or suffer from the inexorable social necessity of 
 returning visits which weighs down the whole civilized 
 world, and his consciousness of an obligation arose, in 
 this case, from his innate kindness of heart rather than 
 from any sense of conventional indebtedness. " If I do 
 not go to see Monsieur Hamor after what has hap 
 pened, he will imagine that I am offended. I am not; 
 I find him very amiable, for a stranger, - therefore I 
 will go." 
 
 As young Morot s boat was running handsomely 
 along, half way over to Plouvenec, it met Rodellec s 
 going out. How are 3-011, Herve ? All well at home ? " 
 
 " All well, monsieur le cure," answered Rodellec, pull 
 ing off his beret and showing his white teeth amicably. 
 
 "What!" thought the priest, "no complaints, no 
 whining? This is singular." 
 
 "Children well, happy, and busy, Rodellec?" 
 
 " Well and happy and busy, thank God, monsieur le 
 cure, good children, all I have left now," he added
 
 GUENN. 269 
 
 from sheer force of habit, but forgot to lower his voice 
 mid wipe his eyes. On the contrary, he shouted it in 
 trumpet tones on the breeze, as the boats were passing, 
 and stood in the stern of his little craft, his handsome 
 head bare, a picture of upright and jocund manhood. 
 
 " Now I wonder what this means," mused Thy inert, 
 feeling at once anxious. 
 
 The cure went into the Voyageurs to bid madame 
 good-morning. He frankly mentioned what he had to 
 do in the village, and added: "I shall also call upon 
 Monsieur Ilamor." 
 
 "Ah, that will be a pleasure to both," responded 
 madame imperturbably. " Shall I tell him? " she asked 
 herself. " No, for then he will not go. Perhaps he 
 would feel more reconciled if he should go and see for 
 himself how things are. A man must see things for 
 himself." 
 
 Since that merry evening when she had stood at her 
 door with the young girls, and seen Guenn s beauti 
 ful, excited eyes watching Ilamor, madame knew that 
 neither priest, sagacious woman, nor any other power 
 could keep the child from rushing on to meet her fate ; 
 but madame herself had been surprised at the prompt 
 ness of Guenn s surrender. Had Herve Rodellec not 
 fatuously committed himself one evening, she would not 
 have suspected him of complicity in the misfortune. 
 
 "You know, madame," he said, "my little girl is 
 posing now for Monsieur Ilamor. A caprice yes. But 
 what can a father do?" He laughed his genial pater 
 nal laugh. " These girls take things in their own 
 hands nowadays." 
 
 Madame slowly turned her placid countenance upon 
 him and inquired : What does her caprice bring you 
 a month, Rodellec?" But while she told herself she
 
 270 GUENN. 
 
 perceived the print of his cloven hoof in the affair, to 
 what extent he was responsible she had no means of 
 knowing, since Guenn never exposed the beauties of the 
 Rodellec interior. So madame, being granted wisdom 
 beyond most of her sex, deplored the situation, but 
 held her peace and went her way, never worrying or 
 alienating Guenn with anxious advice, never consider 
 ing it her duty eloquently to depict her views to Mon 
 sieur Hamor. She merely waited and watched, and 
 each day confided to the one person in whom she placed 
 absolute trust, herself: "There is no harm, posi- 
 tiveh r none, only the child has too much heart. It is 
 inconvenient." 
 
 u You will find it interesting," she now remarked to 
 the priest. " I have been there once myself. Monsieur 
 Hamor was so amiable as to beg me to come. He 
 wishes also to paint a panel in my dining-room before 
 he goes. Even artist-guest should leave me such a 
 remembrance, Monsieur Hamor suggests." 
 
 " He is really very amiable," said Thymert cordially. 
 " He is going to paint a large picture for the chapel 
 too." 
 
 The cure bade madame good-morning, she wished 
 him an agreeable visit, and on he went. Passing some 
 young girls knitting and gossiping on a corner, he 
 looked involuntarily for Guenn s bright face, but she 
 was not with them. Rodellec s manner recurred to 
 him. " His smile is more dangerous than his blow. 
 I did not intend to see Guenn to-day, but I must find 
 out what Rodellec meant. Still, if there were any 
 trouble she would let me know. She promised. She 
 gave me her honest little hand." With this comforting 
 thought brooding in his tender e} r es, Tlrymert passed 
 beneath the tired little woman s casement, thereby
 
 GUEMN. 271 
 
 creating in her feeble being a small flutter of curiosit}*, 
 through the archway across the court-yard, up the stair- 
 wa}~, and knocked vigorously at Hamor s door. 
 
 ; Come in," called the painter impatiently, without 
 turning his head. He was too much absorbed in his 
 drawing to care whether the intruder was Staunton, the 
 carpenter, or his new friend the chief of the police. 
 Guenn, too, was intent upon her pose, her head turned 
 away from the door. Jeanne rose with her knitting, 
 and looked in gentle wonder and uncertainty from one 
 to the other. But Nannie, with an utterly unmj stic and 
 bad-little-boy shout of triumph, cried lustily: "There 
 now, Guenn Rodellec, perhaps 3 ou will believe me next 
 time ! " 
 
 Guenn dropped the oar which she was wielding with 
 some difficulty in the absence of its normal element, 
 and sprang joyfully towards Tlvymert. lk Oh, there he 
 is, monsieur! " she cried. "Now, we can beg him to 
 help us make our picture." Radiant, free, ros} , the 
 young girl welcomed the priest with her two out 
 stretched hands, looking eagerly over her shoulder at 
 Hamor. " Now we can tell him everything." 
 
 " Well, I never was more delighted to see anybody 
 in my life," exclaimed the artist warmly. " Pray par 
 don my inattention, monsieur le cure. I am so used 
 to people coming in. I was making an important 
 study of Guenn. But everything must give way to this 
 unexpected honor." He did not offer his careless 
 Bohemian boxes to Thymert, but pulled out the seat 
 of honor, the old black-oak chair, with the twining 
 serpent-like roots. 
 
 " Dear monsieur le cure," said Gueun, darting about 
 him like an affectionate humming-bird, " you will help 
 us with our picture ? "
 
 272 GUENN. 
 
 Thymert raised his hand heavily to his forehead. 
 For perhaps the first time in his life, the simple direct 
 soul was completely bewildered. We? us? ours? 
 what was the meaning of all this? Guenn hated the 
 strangers and artists. Yet here she was with this 
 successfully smiling young man, never so brilliant and 
 glad, never more beautiful and innocently content, lie 
 saw all their faces as in a dream. Little Jeanne over 
 her knitting-needles, and long striped stocking, meek 
 and maiden!}* ; Hamor handsome and cordial ; Guenn s 
 rich color and lovely laughing eyes. Suddenly, his 
 glance fell on the pile of boxes crowned by Nannie s 
 malicious face. It is, perhaps, a disguised blessing in 
 this deceptive, mysterious life of ours, that pure hateful- 
 ness often strengthens us where pure goodness fails to 
 serve as a tonic. Tlrymert was very human, and the 
 malicious glee oil the distorted face of the deformed 
 child who had never liked him brought him to his 
 senses. 
 
 " I have come to return } T our visit, Monsieur Ilamor," 
 he said awkwardly, but with a certain rough dignity. 
 "I am in the village this morning. I am sorry if I 
 disturb you." 
 
 " But you do not, does he, Guenn? " Hamor answered 
 in his sunniest and most graceful way. " We were only 
 attempting something. Perhaps you would like to see 
 us at work," he added easily. 
 
 Every intimate allusion to Guenn, every "we," cut 
 Thymert to the heart. But the searching cruelty of the 
 eyes peering over the boxes forced him with savage 
 pride to conceal his pain. 
 
 "Yes," he answered slowly, " I should like to see 
 what it is that you do here," looking from the beams 
 and rafters to the floor, turning his dark gaze un-
 
 GUENN. 273 
 
 easily upon the dormer-windows, the granite window- 
 seats, the chimne} with its smouldering fire on the 
 hearth, the table with its few books and the blue Dime 
 vase, the easels and palettes and camp-stools and dra 
 peries, and all the unknown paraphernalia of art. It did 
 not, indeed, look very terrible ; } et Thymert s tortured 
 heart never forgot what he saw for the first time that 
 day, never indeed ceased to remember it with a shudder. 
 
 " This charcoal- sketch will not interest you," Harnor 
 said confidently. " We will try something in colors. 
 Posez, Guenn, with the water-jug." 
 
 " Yes, sir," Guenn answered witli dutiful alacrity. 
 
 "Head to the left; right foot forward; droop the 
 left shoulder." 
 
 " Can I bear this?" sighed the priest. 
 
 " This is onl}- a pot-boiler, " explained Hamor cheer- 
 full} . " But it s very fair as my pot-boilers go, and 
 almost finished. Frankly," he said, laughing, "I have 
 painted better pictures, technically speaking ; but Guenn 
 was never prettier in anything, and most people care only 
 for prettiness." 
 
 " God help us ! " thought the silent priest. " A free 
 Breton girl, and she stoops to that. Free, fearless 
 Guenn Rodellec, tamed, trained, chained, at the beck 
 and call of a strange man ! " He pulled at his soutane, 
 as if it lay too close on his strong breast. Meeting Nan 
 nie s ironical scrutiny, he controlled himself. Guenn 
 was smiling at him with frank affection and undisguised 
 pride in her own achievements. Her eager eyes followed 
 eveiy movement of Hamor s controlling hand and head. 
 Thymert saw with inexpressible pain that her whole 
 soul lay supinely at the painter s careless feet. A 
 fierce longing rose within him to sail his boat in a storm 
 far out in an angry sea. 
 
 18
 
 274 GUENN. 
 
 " I must go," he said abruptly. " I have not much 
 time." 
 
 "Oh but we haven t arranged anything," exclaimed 
 Guenn regretfully, looking at Hamor. 
 
 "That can wait," the painter said courteously, "if 
 monsieur le recteur has no time to-day. We only wished 
 to beg for hospitality at the Lannions a day or two. 
 The prejudices of the world, monsieur le cure, are 
 against us artists. The world objects to our methods, 
 even the Plouvenec world," he went on, laughing. 
 " Knowing }"ou to be a great soul, when I need 3*ou, 
 I shall not hesitate to turn to you for aid in my art 
 projects." 
 
 " Very good, monsieur, very good," answered Thy- 
 mert stiffly, feeling himself in no respect the slave of 
 art, and not in the least divining what Monsieur Hamor 
 wanted of him. Guenn s clasped hands on his arm 
 roused him to a clearer conception of his responsibil 
 ities. 
 
 " You see, monsieur le cure," said the girl, breath 
 lessly, her ardent face near his shoulder, " it is our great 
 picture. I am in the ferry-boat, you know. I am very 
 prctt} r with the great oar, monsieur says. Of course all 
 the boys would come to see me pose, and they would dis 
 turb us in our work. So we want to come over to }"ou, 
 where nobody will care what we do. I told monsieur 
 you would help us. It was my own idea. It is so 
 fortunate that 3*ou happen to come in to-day, for we 
 haven t too much time. The weather is about right 
 now," she informed him with her newlj* gained wisdom. 
 "The light is good. It is for the Salon, you know," her 
 rich glad voice sinking into a pretty hushed tone of awe 
 and excitement. 
 
 What cared Thy inert for light or the Salon or art-
 
 GUENN. 
 
 275 
 
 projects ; but the intense desire in Guenn s voice was 
 something real to him, which he was incapable of ig 
 noring. " Child, child," he said, forgetting the painter, 
 forgetting the leer on the pile of boxes, " ask what 
 you wish of me. Thymert and the Lannions are always 
 ready for you when you want them." He gave his 
 hand abruptly to Hamor, and, in an instant, was strid 
 ing through the court. The gargoyle laughed long and 
 silently.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 OU are beautiful, Guenn : 
 remain beautiful for me," 
 worked like a charm on the 
 young girl. She not only 
 remained beautiful, but 
 seemed to grow more daz- 
 zlingly lovely each day. 
 The birth of new thoughts, 
 her intense happiness in 
 Hamor s constant presence, 
 her proud realization of his 
 
 need of her, and her loyal and clever efforts to com 
 prehend his wishes, refined and illumined her face, 
 without depriving it of the old freshness and freedom. 
 No happy bride, blessed in the consciousness of being 
 chosen out of the whole world by her perfect lover, 
 could be more secure in spirit, more radiant, than 
 Guenn was in these days. No gallant young Breton 
 cavalier, leading his Chouans against the Blues, be 
 tween the mighty granite walls that marked his own 
 fair fields, was ever more ardently loyal to his cause, 
 than this impassioned, faithful heart to what it felt was 
 its high calling. As a rose opens to the summer s 
 warmth, her womanliness awakened more and more, 
 softening much that had been hard in her. Little
 
 GUENN. 277 
 
 roughnesses disappeared, and it was seldom now that 
 the. defiant lines settled about her young lips. Yet 
 she lost none of those dominant characteristics which 
 separated her radically from other girls, and made her 
 peculiarly herself, her boylike instinct for fair play, 
 fiery scorn of a blow in the back, and large-hearted 
 protection of the feeble, undefended, and absent, attri 
 butes seldom, indeed, found or expected in womankind, 
 from its queens down to its fish-girls, but nevertheless 
 worthy of some contemplation on the part of those inter 
 ested in the higher education of women, as rarer than 
 decorative art, more precious than Sanscrit. 
 
 Guenn had all her life been protecting something. 
 At the age of six she was nursing fledglings that had 
 fallen from ths nest ; and there was not, from that time 
 on, a more common sight in Plouvenec streets than 
 she, a small, rosy, furiously angry child, rolling 
 her ragged apron round a decrepit and maltreated dog 
 or cat, valiantly facing a mob of persecuting boys, hit 
 ting them well with words or her determined little fist, 
 whichever seemed best to serve the exigencies of the 
 moment. Then there was always Nannie, because he 
 was lame ; and, although he had grown so clever, she 
 looked after him still, like an anxious little mother. 
 And there was Jeanne. She abused Jeanne herself at 
 times unconscionably, but woe to any one else who pre 
 sumed to take liberties with Guenn Rodellec s faithful 
 vassal. In fact, Guenn "loved her people," and 
 protected all who had need of her. 
 
 Now this powerful instinct was devoted to Hamor s 
 picture, to Hamor s interests, to Hamor himself. She 
 swept his studio. She put flowers in his vase. She 
 washed his brushes. She gently laid a shawl over him, 
 finding him asleep one da} , and received for the atten-
 
 278 GUENN. 
 
 tion a brusqne and mannish, "Take the thing away. 
 I hate to be coddled," which ingratitude did not dis 
 turb her a whit. Trifles could not affect her now. She 
 was elevated above all petty things. She could even 
 smile when Hamor patted Jeanne s cheek. Jeanne was 
 a child. Jeanne had not entered upon a solemn al 
 liance with monsieur. So Guenn wore an air of in 
 spiration, and grew more beautiful and more bewitching 
 with each new day s bondage to her lord and master. 
 Even Staunton, now working hard on another great 
 landscape on the shore, and at the same time deeply in 
 love with a young Danish girl over at jSTevin, was com 
 pelled to emerge from his all-absorbing occupations, 
 hopes, and rhapsodies, and observe, when Guenn, smil 
 ing charmingly, passed him in the court: "How tall 
 and fine the pretty child is growing ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, with the awakening of other new senti 
 ments in her active mind, was the confused sense of not 
 possessing all external adjuncts that might be pleasing 
 to Monsieur Hamor. Up to this period she had been 
 superbly indifferent to her toilet. If only the coiffe 
 was spotless, polished, gleaming white, she and all other 
 honest Breton girls practically ignored the patches and 
 deposits of time upon their skirts, aprons, and kerchiefs. 
 They danced at festivals and on market-clays with never 
 a thought of their imperfections. The perfect coiffe, 
 indeed, atoned for all defects. And as for Guenn her 
 self, although she saw the rich peasant girls, in old silver 
 embroideries, and broad Breton lace on their caps, and 
 brand-new cashmere skirts, come over from Quimper 
 and Nevin and all around, she saw, too, perfectly well, 
 as everybody with eyes must have seen, that where she 
 stood the best dancers and the best sailors alwa} S 
 thronged, even the seamen of monsieur le comman-
 
 GUENN. 279 
 
 dant, men who had danced with pretty girls in great sea 
 ports all over the world, in those heathen lands far 
 away from Bretagne ; and many a handsome bronzed 
 face, with Merle in white letters on the little blue cap 
 with the two ends of ribbon floating jauntily behind, 
 never looked at the heavy girls from Quimper with all 
 their furbelows, but waited hungrily for a smile or a 
 word from the lovely little being whose grace and wit 
 and careless beauty, as she wound through the inter 
 minable mazes of the gavotte, made eveiy man of them 
 blind to her patches and her faded gown. 
 
 So Guenn had had no need of finery. Now she began 
 to thirst after it. Monsieur was always talking of color. 
 Monsieur was always talking of form. It seemed to her 
 evident that she could more worthily help along the 
 great work, if she had a new gown with some color and 
 some form, and some bright ribbons beside. One day 
 Harnor found her earnestly scrutinizing herself in a 
 small mirror which hung in the corner of the atelier. He 
 smiled and thought, "All women are alike," a favorite 
 conclusion of youngish men who pride themselves upon 
 their knowledge of human nature ; but his theories were 
 put to rout and confusion when she unabashed smiled 
 sweetly at him, and, continuing her investigations, re 
 marked : " I am trying to find out what pleases you in 
 my face, monsieur. I wish I knew. You see " with 
 her merriest laugh " to me it looks so very much like 
 Guenn Rodellec ! " staring solemnly into her own great 
 blue eyes, and adjusting her coiffe without a sign of 
 coquetry or embarrassment. 
 
 Still her best energies were now directed towards new 
 clothes. The Pardon at Nevin was coming soon. Every 
 one would be there. Hamor would see her dance. It 
 was true he had already seen her dance, here and there,
 
 280 GUENN. 
 
 in an unimportant way ; but he had never seen her com 
 pete for the prize, never seen her reeling off before the 
 world, she thought with a sudden flush in her cheeks, 
 and win, though girls from seven towns should dance 
 against her. Guenn knew her own powers, and, like 
 the most famous wrestler of Scaer, often generousl} left 
 the field open to contestants who had yet their laurels to 
 win ; but this time she intended to enter seriously for 
 the prize for the prettiest, as well as that for the longest 
 continued, dancing. He should see her gloiy. With 
 this in view, she began with innocent diplomacy to take 
 some notice of her neglected swain Alain, her best part 
 ner from earliest times, and whom she had cruelly 
 ignored for weeks. 
 
 It was by no means an eas}* matter for a Plouvenec 
 village-girl to accomplish the feat of procuring a new 
 gown. The fathers exacted every pen n}" of the regular 
 earnings. Now and then a stra\ r franc for errands or 
 some other extra service made them rich for the mo 
 ment ; yet Hamor and Staunton had been more than 
 once surprised and touched to find that Guenn and 
 Jeanne, with splendid improvidence, had actually bought 
 late fall-flowers of a gardener with their few independent 
 sous, and were playing with them, enjoying them, 
 caressing them as if they had a right to the dainty 
 things of life, to the freshness and perfume of flowers. 
 "No one would believe it," exclaimed Hamor with en 
 thusiasm, looking down from his atelier upon the two 
 girls sitting in the court with their posies, "no one : 
 I would not believe it myself if I should read it in a 
 book of travels in Brittan3\ I should say it was all 
 chic." 
 
 "But it looks like the real thing now, doesn t it?" 
 Staunton answered kindby. " Poor little vagabonds ! "
 
 GUENN. 281 
 
 It is evident, then, that as Guenn had no pennies 
 laid up for a rainy day, and no claim upon her earnings, 
 she must devise some method of making money if she 
 hoped to execute all her plans before the Nevin Pardon. 
 It was not only a new gown that she wished. Her im 
 agination, once roused, would not be quieted. A 
 coifFe with finer, broader lace. That would surely please 
 monsieur, a fresh kerchief. And then there was one 
 object for which her very soul longed, something 
 which, it seemed to her, would help smooth away the 
 discrepancies between her life and that of her idol, 
 discrepancies which in spite of her happiness she per 
 ceived clearer each day, a white rectangular cake 
 of soap. 
 
 With soap in the untutored Breton peasant concep 
 tion of the word she was perfectly familiar. This was 
 a thick and muddj -looking liquid substance kept in a tin 
 can, and commonly employed in the washing of clothes, 
 rarely applied to hands. The fine sweet-smelling solid 
 cake, used by Hamor and the others before going over 
 to lunch, she had at first regarded with discontent and 
 mistrust, but gradually it had begun to have an inex 
 pressible importance in her eyes. She had taken it up, 
 pinched it, smelt of it, when Hamor was not there. 
 She grew ashamed of her brown hands. Every day she 
 had occasion to contrast Hamor s and her own. Surely 
 it was the little white cake that made the difference. 
 And would she not please him more if her hands were 
 white and smooth like his own ? "Would that not be 
 prettier in the picture? She could but try. Had he 
 not said she must be beautiful for his sake? Ah, what 
 would she not do to please him ! If she only had a 
 gown all bunched up behind, with hangers and danglers 
 like the city ladies and travellers who now and then
 
 282 GUENN. 
 
 visited Monsieur Hamor s atelier ! " If I could squeeze 
 myself in at the waist, and squeeze myself in at the 
 hands, and squeeze ir>3 T self in at the feet, but no," 
 she thought, throwing out her chest with a long deep 
 breath in freedom and contempt of squeezing laws, 
 "they can t run: monsieur loves to see me run." 
 Or if she were only as beautiful as the rose-crowned 
 plaster-of- Paris image of Our Lactyin the village church, 
 with her downcast lids and the perpetual simper on her 
 thin lips. Guenn had seen in Hamor s little mirror 
 that her own eyes were wide open and bold, and she 
 found her lips too red and pouting, her whole face al 
 together too brown. She consoled herself with the 
 thought that she pleased him ; but naturally she would 
 please him more, the more she improved, and her eager 
 spirit sought continually means of improvement. Soap 
 she must certainly have. A mirror also was one of her 
 aspirations. Well, there were wa} r s and ways for a 
 bright girl, and the stage went three times a week to 
 Quimper, and old Andre the stage-driver was good to 
 Guenn Rodellec, as indeed were all the men. 
 
 One morning before six she stole into the stable-yard 
 where the Quimper stage-driver stood, all ready to 
 mount upon the box and drive with a prodigious noise 
 to the two inns, and then out of the village. Perhaps 
 it was the early morning twilight that made her look 
 so pale, the good-natured driver thought ; but, accus 
 tomed to crack rough jokes with her, he asked if Alain 
 had deserted her for another lass, seeing that she looked 
 " all e}~es." Guenn had no joke in return, but merely 
 slipped a package into his hand. " Sell it for what 
 you can get," she said with painful eagerness. 
 
 " What is it, child? " he asked carelessly, accustomed 
 to make all kinds of bargains and commissions for the 
 village girls.
 
 283 
 
 " Only my hair," she answered with a little shiver. 
 The scissors had felt cold as the} went plunging through 
 the heavy curling mass, and the very sound of the steel, 
 as she ruthlessly cut tress by tress close to her head, 
 had sickened her. She knew it was silly, and indeed 
 one does n t need one s hair ; it does n t show, and is 
 only a trouble under one s coiffe, she reflected : still 
 she was used to the soft bright waves tumbling down 
 to her knees mornings and nights, and when this dark, 
 cold morning she had gathered it up from the floor it 
 felt human and clinging in her hands. So she shivered, 
 and was a little pale in spite of herself, as she smiled 
 bravely at the stage-driver, and said: "Bring me all 
 the mone} r you can, and 3 ou won t tell, will you?" 
 
 " H m," he looked at her curiously. " If I was a 
 young thing like you, I wouldn t cut off my pretty 
 locks for all the furbelows in all Bretagne. It s furbe 
 lows you want, now isn t it?" 
 
 Guenn nodded. 
 
 "For the Pardon?" 
 
 She nodded again. 
 
 " I wonder who it is," thought the old fellow shrewdly. 
 "Come now, Guenn," he said familiarly. "Take my 
 advice. Let it grow again." 
 
 " Ah ! " she answered, with a shrug and an involun 
 tary sigh for her shorn glory, "it would take a lifetime 
 to grow as long as that again." 
 
 "He isn t worth it, my dear," giving a loud laugh 
 and slapping his horse s neck : " not a mother s son of 
 us is ; my word for that." 
 
 Guenn colored high, and turned quickly to go. 
 
 " What is this? " thought the man. " Where is her 
 saucy tongue? Voyons, voyons, ma petite Guenn," he 
 called; "come back: we have n t made our bargain."
 
 284 GUENN. 
 
 Still laughing, he went on : " There was Samson : they 
 cut off his hair and his strength with it. Be careful ; 
 perhaps 3~ou have done as much, little fool ! " 
 
 " Oh, don t say that, not that, my good Andre ! " 
 cried Guenn, clasping her hands and staring at him 
 with a frightened look in her eyes. If she had no 
 strength she would not please Hamor: he liked her 
 strength. 
 
 " Well, well, if ever I saw you in such a mood! " 
 chuckled Andre. " Never mind, I will sell your fleece, 
 ray poor little sheep : only find your tongue, my girl. 
 If you lose your impudence, Guenn Ilodellec, all Plou- 
 venec would be triste," and he scratched his head and 
 looked at her gravely, as if considering a national 
 calamity. 
 
 She laughed brightly. " Oh, I m impudent enough : 
 I m always Guenn ; have no fear, Andre." Then look 
 ing round to see no stable-boy was near: " How much 
 do you think you can bring me?" 
 " Is there much of it? " 
 " Bushels ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Perhaps twent} 7 francs ; perhaps more." 
 " Mon dieu ! " she cried joyfully. The pitiful sum in 
 return for all that magnificence seemed a fortune to 
 her. 
 
 " But I usually get something myself." 
 " Of course," she answered promptly; " what, An 
 dre ? " 
 
 Wiping his mouth on his coat-sleeve : " A kiss from 
 the pretty ones." 
 
 One month before, this would have been the opening 
 of a racy dialogue, in which Guenn s lawless, stinging 
 retorts would have drawn an applauding crowd of sta 
 blemen round her, and the description of the encounter
 
 GUENN. 285 
 
 would have entertained the village for da}*s. Now, she 
 sprang lightly back, and only said, with an angry flash 
 in her eyes, " And that s what Guenn Rodellec doesn t 
 give to 3 ou or any man ; and 3^011 know it as well as I 
 do, Andre Beuvet. So give me my package : I 11 find 
 a better man than you to take it ! " 
 
 " I ve a mind to shake 3 T ou well," he answered impa 
 tiently. "No jokes? No fun? What have you got 
 in your obstinate little head? A better man, indeed! 
 Are n t you ashamed of yourself? Are you tr}ing to be 
 a demoiselle?" he asked, with sudden suspicion. 
 
 But now Guenn, with one of her April-day changes, 
 was smiling very sweetly at him and holding out both, 
 hands. " Listen, my good Andre ; don t let us quarrel. 
 I 11 tell you what I will do : I 11 knit you a pair of 
 stockings and give the kiss to little Andre." 
 
 " Give him the stockings and me the kiss," returned 
 the man, instantly pacified and glad to joke: "I have 
 stockings enough, and the little gars is spoiled with 
 kisses all day long." 
 
 " I can t help that," said Guenn, laughing ; " his face 
 is smoother and rounder than his old bear of a father s. 
 Now don t abuse me any more, Andre. I 11 be at the 
 Voyageurs when you come back to-night. Get all you 
 possibly can, you dear, good, nice Andre ! " she added 
 in a caressing tone, with a little ingratiating pat on his 
 coat-sleeve. 
 
 "Dear, good, nice Andre indeed!" he grumbled, 
 but thrust the precious package deep in an inside 
 pocket, and resolved to make that old fiend of a Jewess 
 in Quimper, who bought Breton girls beautiful hair 
 for the greedy Paris market, for once in her life pay a 
 decent price. "When the handsomest lass in Plou- 
 venec sells her hair, poor little fool, it would be a sin, 
 by Our Lady, to let it go for a song." He smiled good-
 
 286 GUENN. 
 
 kumoredly, having a soft spot in his heart for little 
 Breton beauties, and when he gathered up the reins and 
 started off gloriously from the Voyageurs, he exchanged 
 a glance of deepest significance with the young girl, 
 who stood watching him witli great eyes under the oak 
 on the common. 
 
 She put her hand instinctively up to her head as the 
 stage went off. There was a queer empty feeling under 
 her coiffe : there was a queer empty feeling in her heart. 
 That, no doubt, she reasoned, was because it was a 
 cold morning, and she had risen very early to perform 
 her sacrificial act, and had not slept much the whole 
 night long, so many excited thoughts were flying through 
 her brain. She felt chilly, and went into the Voyageurs 
 kitchen to warm herself. Madame gave her some hot 
 soup, and was altogether so calmly cheerful and kind 
 that Guenn began to be quite happy again, in spite of 
 the secret under her coiffe. 
 
 " I shall buy a blue dress," she thought, " very dark 
 and mixed-looking. He likes things dark and mixed- 
 looking : he can use them ; and he will surely be pleased 
 at the Pardon if he sees that the lace on my coiffe is 
 good and broad and of a pretty design." Already she 
 felt herself leading off with Alain to the sound of the 
 shrill bagpipes ; and by the time she went round to the 
 studio she was in her merriest, most charming mood, 
 and had quite forgotten the fatal snip-snap of her dull 
 scissors. 
 
 When the stage came in that evening she was wild 
 with excitement, and could scarcely restrain her impa 
 tience until she could escape from Jeanne and respond 
 to Andre s signal. It seemed to her the men would 
 never let him go : there the} 7 stood making their stupid 
 jokes and laughing loud, while she was waiting in a fever 
 of expectation. At last he came.
 
 GUENN. 287 
 
 " How much? " she whispered, as he put the money 
 in her trembling hand. 
 
 " Thirty francs." 
 
 Gnenn jumped for jo} . 
 
 " The woman said she never saw such hair." 
 
 Guenn was silent a moment. A happy sob escaped 
 from her overcharged heart, and her e}-es filled with 
 tears of tenderness. It seemed fitting that they should 
 praise her hair, then it was worthier of being se 
 cretly offered to him. Quickly recovering herself she 
 answered saucily: "No, I don t suppose she ever did. 
 Nobod} r ever did. Nice, pretty hair to bring me all this 
 money," she exclaimed, patting her head approvingly. 
 " And a thousand thousand thanks for your trouble, 
 Andre," warmly shaking his hands. 
 
 " I shall keep my eye on you at the Pardon. I shall 
 discover what gars it is," he said indulgenthy. " Mind 
 3*ou look fine now, vain little peacock ! " 
 
 "Fine? On!}- wait and see, Andre! One does not 
 dance ever} day. One is not always 3 oung and pretty, 
 and " lowering her voice and looking cautiously 
 around " one is not always rich ! " 
 
 Her hand closing triumphantly upon the treasure in 
 her pocket, she sprang back to Jeanne, conscious that 
 she was withholding two enormous secrets from that 
 faithful little soul, her loss of hair, her gain in worldly 
 possessions. She did not reproach herself for her re 
 serve. This concerned monsieur ; and in general when 
 the conqueror " monsieur" enters, girl s friendships suf 
 fer a decline and fall. Guenn s irresistible laugh sounded 
 everywhere on the common that night. She was never 
 more daring and mischievous, springing gayly about with 
 incessant jokes and pranks. As intermezzo between all 
 her eccentricities, she dilated with glowing anticipations 
 upon the Pardon at Nevin.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 ANY Pardon in Guenn s estimation was an occasion 
 of unmitigated and vast enjoyment. But a Pardon 
 illumined by monsieur s presence, and where she would 
 dance before him in a blue gown, was a dream of bliss 
 almost too rapturous for mortal girl to sustain. A Par 
 don, according to the cynical views of an old French 
 writer, differs somewhat from Guenn s rose-colored 
 impressions. 
 
 A chapel, a fountain, a place consecrated by the re 
 membrance of some saint or miracle, so, freely ren 
 dered, runs his text. The people confess ; the} indulge 
 in superstitions practices ; they buy crosses, rosaries, 
 and images, with which they touch the statue of the 
 demi-dieu ; they rub foreheads, knees, paralyzed arms 
 against the marvellous stone, or throw pennies and pins 
 into the fountain ; they dance ; they drink to excess ; 
 the} return home poor in pocket, but rich in hope. The 
 superstition is a remnant of the most remote worship of
 
 GUENN. 289 
 
 water, the ancient faith of the Gauls, who consecrated 
 in their fountains the gold seized from their enemies. 
 
 Little cared Guenn Rodellec for the faith of the an 
 cient Gauls the morning when she and Jeanne and 
 Nannie climbed into a hay-cart already crowded with 
 laughing girls, and started off for Nevin. On the road 
 they passed the three painters, who swung their hats in 
 jocose holiday greeting. They had come through a 
 shad}- village whose pretty Breton name signifies "the 
 place of tears," and were going at an excellent pace, 
 only stopping now and then to examine Druid stones, of 
 which there were several on this road. A dolmen, re 
 mains of a cromlech, and a trembling stone which would 
 only respond, according to the folk, to the touch of a 
 pure hand. Here young lovers came to test each other s 
 truth. There was also a menhir thirty feet high, per 
 haps a sun-stone in the worship of the ancient Armori- 
 cans. Young married couples would steal to it in the 
 dusk, la}- their breasts against its rough sides, and con 
 fide to it their dearest wishes for happiness and home. 
 Guenn wished she were walking, too ; but it was a tramp 
 of ten miles, and in consideration of her dancing she had 
 with exceptional docility acted upon Jeanne s advice to 
 husband her strength. " What will he say when he sees 
 me ? " she was continually asking herself with a thrill of 
 joyful anticipation. Arriving, she had no interest until 
 he came ; then followed him as closely as a certain new 
 feeling of shyness would permit. 
 
 On a species of shelf against the one wall of the rude 
 dancing-room, which was shaded by a roof, and had 
 three sides open to the weather and spectators, sat the 
 man with the bigniou, or Breton bagpipe, already in 
 position. The dancing had not begun, but he was 
 indulging in startling preludes which increased his im- 
 
 19
 
 290 GUENN. 
 
 portance in the eyes or rather ears of his country 
 men. With jolty mien, distended shining cheeks, and 
 crossed legs, he sat far above the common herd, and 
 blew like the great god Pan. 
 
 " Oh, I must have him ! " exclaimed Hamor raptur 
 ously, plunging into his sketch-book and forgetting the 
 crowd. 
 
 "I sa} r , Hamor," Staunton said, "do you know, I 
 think Guenn is waiting for you. She seems to be 
 hanging about." 
 
 "What does she want?" indifferently and without 
 looking up. " She s not on duty to-day." 
 
 " Well, I don t know," Staunton returned in his low, 
 kind voice. "She s got some new toggery, I think. 
 Perhaps she wants 3^011 to see it. There would be 
 nothing very heretical about that, would there?" 
 
 No ; I think we must allow a prett3* girl her small 
 vanities. Just wait till I get the expression of that fel 
 low s hand, and then I ll attend to her." 
 
 " The little thing does n t look quite happ3 T ," Staunton 
 added, turning awa3 . 
 
 Hamor finished his sketch at his leisure. As he put 
 his book in his pocket he saw Gueun standing entirely 
 alone at a little distance, and, as Staunton had said, not 
 looking quite happy. In her present relationship to 
 Hamor she was too artless to force herself to chat with 
 other girls, and, concealing her desire for his approval, 
 await his verdict with outward composure. Her inno 
 cent eyes were fixed upon him with a certain anxiet3 , 
 and she was clasping and unclasping her hands 
 nervously. 
 
 " Good heavens ! I hope she is n t going to cry." He 
 went towards her. With a friendly quizzical glance he 
 slowby inspected her toilet. He saw that the new ker-
 
 GUENN. 291 
 
 chief in shaded reds was a kind he had said he liked, 
 that the coarse blue dress was agreeabty dingy ; and 
 though Guenn would have been sadly disappointed had 
 she known that he did not observe the design of her 
 Breton lace, he did notice that something airy and 
 soft encircled the lovely face now looking up to him 
 with a troubled smile. He took off his hat, made a 
 profound bow, and said with grave ceremonj-, 
 "Madame! " 
 
 Guenn was enchanted. Any small joke of Ilamor s 
 was always to her the rarest and most delicious wit. 
 " I please him ! " she thought, her waiting and doubts 
 forgotten, perfect jo} r in her heart. Blushing, smiling, 
 roguish, she made him her lowest reverence. "Mon 
 sieur ! " she said in a demure voice, through which her 
 gladness seemed to bubble irrepressibly, and the next 
 instant was darting about in the crowd, bestowing freely 
 the words, looks, and smiles she had kept in reserve 
 until her fate was sealed. 
 
 "I please him! I may be as happy as I choose!" 
 She squeezed and shook Jeanne with all her strength, 
 and lifted her from the ground. 
 
 "Going in for feats of strength, Guenn?" laughed 
 Alain admiringly. " The lifting has not begun." 
 
 "No, Alain; that was an extra. I had to wake 
 Jeanne up, she looked so bete. It s a sin and a shame 
 to be dull at a Pardon. Now behave, Jeanne ! " 
 
 "If you ll please not take nry breath away, be 
 cause I shall want some to dance with," Jeanne begged 
 meekly. 
 
 " O Alain, we will dance as we never danced before," 
 Guenn exclaimed with an eloquent look. 
 
 "And the village is so full," said the young man 
 gayly. "All the towns far and near have come. We
 
 292 GUENN. 
 
 will show them how we dance in Plouvenec, eh 
 Guenn?" 
 
 She smiled and nodded at him, and the deluded youth 
 did not dream that all the towns far and near, and all 
 the nois.y, jostling crowd were as nothing to Guenn in 
 comparison with one foreign gars ; that she was wildly 
 longing to begin the gavotte before him as her one 
 spectator, arid to read in his smiling, uncertain eyes the 
 assurance of her triumph. 
 
 This Nevin may be described, without much exagge 
 ration, as occupied, possessed, and dominated by foreign 
 artists, with a sufficient number of the original race left 
 to serve as models for the invaders. Such was the art 
 atmosphere or art mania prevailing in this painters 
 paradise, that few tourists were endowed with sufficient 
 strength of mind to resist it. However innocent of art 
 aspirations the} had strayed there, however devoid of 
 talent they might be, in the course of a week the} were 
 apt to merge into inspired Nevinists, zealous devotees 
 of water-colors or oil. Only a great soul could with 
 stand the seductions of Nevin ten da} - s, and if any 
 person ever escaped from the village without so much 
 as making a sketch, his action has not been recorded, 
 and his own statement would be received by the Ne 
 vinists with utter incredultty. 
 
 No selection was necessary in Nevin ; one could 
 stroll out at random, simply set up one s easel and 
 camp-stool and begin. Benign and indulgent nature 
 had arranged an infinity of subjects. Wherever one 
 turned one s eyes was a choice little landscape begging 
 to be transferred to canvas and framed. A winding, 
 shallow stream, foaming over most attractive rocks, 
 between picturesque banks and conventionally drooping 
 trees, small, quaint mills, and thatched cottages of the
 
 GUENN. 293 
 
 most pleasing kind, apparently designed by a special 
 providence for water-color gems, hill-slopes smooth 
 as a lawn, and irreproachable woods, were the delight 
 and pride of the Nevin artists. Yet, in spite of these 
 legitimate fascinations, a visitor of an hour was often 
 capable of sa3"ing with cold ingratitude : " Yes, it is a 
 lovely nest, but it is a nest all the same, and one has 
 seen it all before. The little mill, the little stream, the 
 stepping-stones and the foam, why it s a perfect model 
 for a child s drawing-book ; nothing could be prettier 
 or less unexpected." And after leaving the faultless 
 village, the long stretch of bare white road between the 
 rugged walls, with their tangled masses of rough growth, 
 gave one a sense of freedom and distance, and one drew 
 a breath of pure relief, feeling the broadness of the 
 breez}* fields of purple heather, rising slowly towards 
 woods whose lofty tops touched vast cloud-masses, 
 and whose cool, gloomy shades teemed with silence 
 and mystery. And the farther from Nevin one went, 
 thereby reducing the danger of being hanged, drawn, 
 and quartered for defying public opinion, - the greater 
 one s courage grew, until one found one s self actually 
 saying : "I don t like your prettily picturesque ; I don t 
 like your Liliputian charming ; I don t like Nevin ! " 
 
 To-day the Nevin faction was everywhere prominent. 
 The Pardon was a ceremonj- centuries old, a festival 
 that would have taken place had never a strange foot 
 trod Nevin streets, had never a stranger s eye rolled in 
 a fine frenzy before Nevin picturesqueness. But the 
 young men in brown velveteen, and the 3 oung women 
 in Rubens hats and Velasquez frills mingled with the 
 folk with amiable condescension, smiling graciously 
 upon the motley costumes and the rough sport. " For 
 us these attitudes, for us these colors, for us this naive
 
 294 GUENN. 
 
 displaj of the habits of a primitive people. How pic 
 turesquely historic, how vividly antique ! " So with 
 a cormorant power of appropriation, the strangers swal 
 lowed the Breton Pardon. 
 
 Guenn was eveiywhere present. A score of voices 
 asked : Who is that beautiful girl with the bold e} T es 
 and the graceful movements ? " The peasants answered : 
 "It s Guenn Rodellec, of course; who else could she 
 be?" The painters: "It s Hamor s model; lucl<y 
 dog ! " 
 
 A lady stood by one of the booths w T ith Hamor and 
 Staunton, laughingly twirling one of the numerous for 
 tune-telling wheels. She was a faithful, hardworking 
 artist, wearing a small hat and no lace frills. In gen 
 eral in Nevin the broader the hat the narrower the 
 talent, the more expansive the frills the more limited 
 the diligence. Three times she twirled and lost, 3*et 
 mottoes and small prizes were plentiful. As she turned 
 away with a jest, she felt a little pull at her elbow, and 
 saw an eager, brilliant face close by her shoulder. 
 
 "Here, mademoiselle," and Guenn thrust a box of 
 sweetmeats in her hand. 
 
 " But why, child?" drawing back a little, eying her 
 curiously. 
 
 "You have lost every time. It is a pity always to 
 lose : I have gained everything ; even the gypsy woman 
 with the serpent in the tent over there gave me a good 
 fortune, and she is a witch, you know, and has the evil 
 eye. Take it, mademoiselle." 
 
 " You are very generous," said the young artist, smil 
 ing and looking at her with interest. 
 
 " Meme chose," returned Guenn carelessly. 
 
 "Who are you, child? I have never seen } T OU at 
 Nevin."
 
 GUENN. 295 
 
 Once, in the days of her freedom, Guenn would have 
 answered with an insolent "I m Guenn Rodellec ; who 
 are you ? " Now she said, with a pretty and confident 
 glance at Hamor, pointing her thumb at him: "His 
 model," proud to follow his chariot, a nameless slave. 
 
 " What a beautiful and remarkable girl," murmured 
 the lady in English. 
 
 Hamor smiled and twirled his mustache. 
 
 Some acquaintances, also painters, had joined the 
 group and were watching the little central figure with 
 undisguised admiration. Guenn scowled at them an 
 instant, then turned to Hamor: " I must go now," she 
 said abruptly. 
 
 "Wait a moment; mademoiselle wishes you to 
 wait." 
 
 "Yes, do wait; and I will take }xmr bonbons for 
 luck." 
 
 " That is nice of you," Guenn responded calmly. 
 
 "But give me something in remembrance too," the 
 young lady continued, delighted with the girl s frank 
 ness, beauty, and the graciousness of the impulse which 
 had led this village child to wish to share her good luck 
 with a less fortunate being: " something I can keep; 
 one of these pretty pins, if you would " 
 
 " Gladly, mademoiselle," and Guenn divested herself 
 of one of her trophies. She was decorated like a field- 
 marshal blazing with orders at a court-ball, her kerchief 
 being adorned with rows of long wax-headed pins in all 
 colors, with pendants and glittering tinsel chains, 
 tributes of devotion from half the sailors and well-to-do 
 young farmers at the Pardon. 
 
 " Why did you choose that color?" asked the artist, 
 taking the soft-blue ornament and fastening it in her 
 dress.
 
 296 GUENN. 
 
 "Because it s the prettiest, and the color of made 
 moiselle s eyes," Guenn said simply, without the least 
 intention to flatter. 
 
 A murmur of admiring comment followed in English. 
 
 " She does you credit, Hamor," said a Nevin man. 
 
 " Who would expect that repartee from a Plouvenec 
 fish-girl?" added another. 
 
 " The fact is," Hamor returned, laughing a little, " I 
 hardly recognize her with these new social graces. She 
 is in a surprisingly good mood. Guenn is the handsom 
 est girl I ever saw in my life, and I m doing some pretty 
 fair work with her ; but as for amiability, the less said 
 the better. Happily it is not an essential." 
 
 Guenn, hearing his dear voice speak her name, looked 
 up at him with a grateful smile. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Hamor," cried the 3 oung lady reproach 
 fully, "she s the most charming little thing in the 
 world, and has the sweetest temper, I am sure." 
 
 Guenn was staring in a friendly wa} at them all, her 
 hands on her hips, swinging herself gently to and fro in 
 time to the enlivening strains of the carousel, where 
 Nannie, dizzy but ecstatic, was soaring proudly aloft, 
 taking his seventh aerial excursion upon a foaming 
 wooden charger with scarlet ears. 
 
 " Your name is Guenn? " asked the artist, merely to 
 prolong the conversation. 
 
 "Yes, I m Guenn," wondering if Hamor liked a 
 plain gray dress and linen collar, and wishing she could 
 see the lad} s hands ungloved. 
 
 " But you do not know me? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I do : you are Monsieur Staunton s sweet 
 heart." 
 
 The stranger blushed deeply. She and Staunton 
 were still in the stage of vague and pleasurable uncer-
 
 GUENN. 297 
 
 taint} , and she was not prepared for this uncompromis 
 ing directness. 
 
 The young Englishman came promptly to the rescue : 
 " But, Guenn, }-ou wear no end of pretty things ; why 
 have you more than anybody else ? " 
 
 " Because I am the favorite, to be sure," raising her 
 eyebrows with some surprise, as if everybody ought 
 to know that self-evident truth. "Good-day; I m 
 going." 
 
 " I should like to see you again," remarked the young 
 lady, recovering her composure. 
 
 "Oh, you ll see me dance, of course," Guenn said 
 brightly ; " everybody 11 see me dance. You d better 
 get a good place soon," she said eagerly to Hamor, 
 " so that 3~ou can see me wherever I go. Hark ! Don t 
 you hear? That s the call: we re going to begin." 
 She clasped her hands above her head, and giving him 
 one intense look of excitement, joy, and devotion, she 
 sprang rapidly through the crowd, pushing and elbowing 
 her way freely towards Alain, who was spinning along 
 with equal momentum from the opposite direction. 
 Smiling broadly upon the three judges with a deliberate 
 intention of prejudicing their opinion, she took her place 
 in the line : but such audacious wiles were superfluous ; 
 for, had her feet been less light and untiring, her move 
 ments less elastic and graceful, where was the man who 
 could resist her lovely face? 
 
 The gavotte began. The bagpipes shrieked their 
 monotonous shrill tune. Back and forward, balancing, 
 turning, passing on, wreathed the interminable line of 
 couples, peasants in the distinctive dress of their 
 villages and districts ; heavy young men and women 
 taking their pleasure soberly, not knowing what to do 
 with their feet, but pushing on with stolid endurance ;
 
 298 GUENN. 
 
 awkward and grinning youths and maidens taking their 
 pleasure shyly, but } ielding gradually to its intoxica 
 tion ; handsome sailors from the Merle, dancing ea 
 sily with a superior air of worldliness, giving one another 
 knowing winks in the midst of their rustic conquests ; 
 peasant heiresses, conscious of their prerogative and 
 of much silver embroidery, and over careful of their 
 steps, such were the dancers springing, shuffling, mov 
 ing on and on, as a rule with more good faith than grace, 
 to the indefatigable shriek of the bagpipes and their 
 own ever-increasing laughter and noisy talk. 
 
 Perfect in rlvythrn, exquisite in the free grace of her 
 motion, Guenn Rodellec danced with a passionate 
 abandon which captivated the painters and turned the 
 elderly brains of the rustic judges. Her small head 
 erect, her smiles by turns mocking and sweet, her 
 cheeks flushed deliciously, her light little figure balanc 
 ing, swa} ing, retreating, beckoning the enamoured 
 Alain on, her clear eyes seeking Hamor s with a kind of 
 proud pleading, the girl was a breathing poem. 
 
 The music stopped. They called her name. She 
 went forwai d to receive the prize for the best dancing. 
 It was a long light silver chain. She took it with a 
 little cry of pleasure. Hamor, smiling kindly at her, 
 was standing near. " Let me put it on for 3*ou," he 
 said, throwing it lightly over her shoulders. Guenn s 
 eyelids drooped till the dark lashes shaded her cheeks, 
 and her heart beat faster from his attention than from 
 all her rapid exercise. 
 
 "Aha," laughed a Nevin artist. "You flirt with 
 them, do you?" 
 
 "Never," returned Hamor with dignity. "I am 
 merely kind to them." 
 
 After a pause, of inhuman brevity it would have
 
 GUENN. 299 
 
 seemed to most people, the musician sounded the call, 
 and the same couples for the most part formed for the 
 more important trial, the longest continued dancing. 
 
 "This is the greater honor," Guenn confided to 
 Hamor in an excited whisper. 
 
 " Then I hope 3*011 may get it." 
 
 " Ah, now I have no fear," she said sweetly. 
 
 She took her place, smoothed her coiffe, already as 
 smooth as glass, repinned her red kerchief, and patted 
 her skirts, as if some unforeseen looseness, some stray 
 end or fold in her extremely compact little costume 
 might impede her movements or lessen her powers of 
 endurance. This was going to be a very different kind 
 of contest, she well knew. It was not speed or light 
 ness this time, and other girls were sound of wind and 
 strong of limb. She straightened herself and looked 
 
 o o 
 
 very much in earnest. "We must not laugh and 
 talk at first, Alain," she warned. Alain assented, as 
 deeply impressed as she with the vastness of the 
 moment. Guenn turned and cleverly measured her 
 foes. " There s that proud thing from Trevignan. 
 She tossed her head at me. She thinks she s going to 
 win." 
 
 Toss yours " 
 
 "Why, I did, simpleton. I ve tossed it at every 
 good dancer in the line. Alain, I shall die if we don t 
 win ! Wait " 
 
 She had spied Nannie leaning on a cider-keg in a 
 corner. In an instant she was near him. " Nannie 
 Nannie, it is luck? " bending over the pale face of the 
 self-appointed oracle. " Quick," she begged softly, 
 "is it luck ? " 
 
 "It is luck, this time," croaked the child with mys 
 terious emphasis.
 
 300 GUENN. 
 
 Back she flew to Alain just in time to begin. " Luck, 
 luck!" cried the bagpipes, "Luck!" echoed her 
 happy heart, and she heard an emphatic Luck ! " in 
 every stamp with which honest Alain marked the time, 
 self-contained reserved stamps indeed, now since breath 
 was precious. She saw Hamor s face and Nannie s, 
 her own grew white with excitement, as she moved at 
 first with measured gentle step. On went the monoto 
 nous hornpipe or j ig, round and round moved the long 
 circle of the gavotte, after a half-hour growing percepti 
 bly smaller. The Trevignan heiress was crimson to 
 the temples, and panting audibly. Many an honora 
 ble rival had retreated to gasp for breath outside. 
 Then Guenn threw prudence to the winds. " Allons ! " 
 she cried and danced as she never danced before. 
 "Faster!" she called to the last relay of musicians, 
 then laughingly beckoned them to descend from their 
 perch. Wondering, steadily playing, they slowly obeyed. 
 Ever} 7 eye was on her. Her magnetism controlled the 
 room. Not a trace of fatigue showed itself in her 
 brilliant little face or in her buo3*ant movements. Im 
 perious, lovely, audacious, laughing, she led the dancers 
 with a sudden bound out of the building into the 
 village-street, where, in this vital moment, the free air 
 and sunshine summoned her with irresistible force. 
 By the booths and the hurdj -gurdies back and forth 
 went the line, now reduced to ten or fifteen couples, 
 and followed by the crowd with the intense inter 
 est which a genuine race of any description always 
 inspires. Again Guenn s clever eyes took account of 
 the weaknesses of her adversaries. " Brigitte has her 
 hand on her side, and Marie is pale about the mouth. 
 O joy ! " Towards the church where the Pardon cer 
 emonies that morning had begun with the proces-
 
 GUENN. 301 
 
 sion of chanting priests, and the train of men and 
 women with tall tapers, and gold and white banners, 
 moving three times round the graveyard, this charming 
 little imitation of the Pied Piper was now leading them, 
 with a refinement of strategy, up hill. But the ex 
 hausted nature of the whole assembly could endure no 
 more. One after another, the couples retired to private 
 life. Last of all the bagpipes expired with a wheeze of 
 fatigue. Alain, whether from gallantry or want of 
 breath, had already stopped, and Guenn stood facing 
 the crowd alone and victorious. 
 
 She extended her arms wide and threw them back, 
 as if to exhibit beyond a doubt to all mankind the 
 veritable person of the victor, then let them slowly fall, 
 her lips parted, breathing fast more from excitement 
 than fatigue. It was the zenith of her gkny. She 
 raised her impassioned eyes towards the sky : she saw 
 the green hill slopes and tree-tops beyond the narrow 
 village-street, and the small stone houses and the wait 
 ing crowd with all the familiar faces watching her. 
 Her father and Loic and Hoel ; the handsome sailors 
 of the Merle ; Meurice and Andre smiling broadly at 
 her ; the girls she had always known ; and all the 
 fish-wives of Plouvenec. It was her world witnessing 
 her triumph. She could la} it now at Hamor s feet. 
 These poor laurels, fairly won, were the best she knew. 
 Trembling with emotion, her whole ardent soul called 
 to Hamor s. Her beautiful eyes sought his with a 
 passionate yet childlike prayer. "Your smile too, O 
 my master ! " they pleaded, " your smile, to crown my 
 
 joy-" 
 
 Hamor had watched her steadily and with extreme 
 pleasure, but at this moment he happened to be discuss 
 ing a moral point with considerable animation. The
 
 302 GUENN. 
 
 Danish girl had remarked that it would be a pity little 
 Helene should grow vain and spoiled, posing so young, 
 and continually hearing her beauty discussed in detail. 
 Ilamor argued that she was far better off, serving as a 
 useful study to the painters, whatever the stimulating 
 effects upon her self-esteem, than if she should grow up 
 in utter unconsciousness of her beauty to toil and be 
 come coarse and ugly with sardine-packing and rough 
 work. 
 
 Guenn saw his face turned from her, his face alone, 
 in this great moment, his face alone in this great 
 crowd. She pressed her hand suddenly to her side. 
 What she felt was akin to strong physical pain. There 
 was, with the cruel disappointment, a look of startled 
 incredulity in her face. She stretched her head for 
 ward. Her eyes dilated. He would surely look. 
 Bending easily towards the young artist, Ilamor was 
 fluently expounding his comfortable sophistries. Guenn 
 made one impetuous step towards him. Her nature 
 instinctively prompted a fierce attack of the lady and a 
 storm of open reproach to Hamor. But love and pain 
 had begun their work of discipline. She turned to 
 Alain and Jeanne who were nearest, and, moving 
 heavily, as if all her strength and buoyanc}- had left 
 her, said with a strained look about the mouth : "I 
 shall never dance again ! " 
 
 What was it all worth ! The long waiting ; the 
 glowing anticipations ; the sacrifice of her soft, shining 
 hair ; her eager hope to please him with the poor little 
 gown so dearly bought ; the admiration in the bold 
 eyes of the Merle sailors ; the envy of the girls ; the 
 stirring call of the bagpipes ; the rapture of the cir 
 cling gavotte ; the joy in being young and strong and 
 lightest of foot and prettiest of face ; and all the ex-
 
 GUENN. 303 
 
 uberance of life and pride and ambition that had caused, 
 her in the intensity of her triumph to face the whole 
 village and the whole unknown world beyond in tacit 
 challenge, imperiously demanding, "Is there then 
 anything more glorious than this, to be Guenn Rodellec 
 and win both prizes in public contest with the best 
 dancers of all Cornouaille ? " what was it worth ? 
 What was life itself worth ? He had turned away his 
 face. If she could flee into dark woods and crawl into 
 a cave and lie upon the ground and die ! It was too 
 light here, and the people made a cruel noise. 
 
 " Take me away," she cried hoarseby to Alain. 
 
 "But the prize, Guenn, the prize!" exclaimed 
 Jeanne. "They are waiting to give it to you. Oh, it 
 is beautiful ! Oh, how glad I am ! Oh, I knew you 
 would win ! " 
 
 " Have I won?" Guenn shivered from head to foot. 
 
 " Are you mad? " laughed Jeanne. 
 
 " It is fatigue. She must have one swallow of grog, 
 no more," Alain said authoritatively. "Jeanne, } ou 
 wait here with her. I will bring it." 
 
 "And you can wear the beautiful silver embroidery 
 when 3*ou dance at the next Pardon." 
 
 "I shall never dance again," Guenn repeated with 
 a pitiful wail in her voice. 
 
 Patient Jeanne shrugged her shoulders. Was not 
 Guenn always odd? 
 
 But Nannie, who unperceived had limped up to them, 
 stood looking at his sister, nodding his head in slow, 
 solemn acquiescence, not with his mocking air, but as 
 if something akin to pity were stirring in his ugly 
 face. 
 
 "O Nannie! O Nannie!" Guenn grasped his arms 
 convulsively.
 
 304 GUENN. 
 
 " Go and get the prize," said the boy in a curt tone. 
 "All the fools are watching. Go, Guenn." 
 
 She obeyed. White and listless she stood again 
 before the judges, received the prize and her friends 
 congratulations . 
 
 "She s done up this time in spite of her boasts," 
 sneered the Tre vignan heiress. 
 
 "It was too long," answered the boatswain of the 
 Merle bluntly. "She needn t have danced so long to 
 show us that she s the best dancer, as she is the pret 
 tiest lass in all Cornouaille. Every man with eyes in 
 his head knows that." 
 
 Loic Nives had pulled Rodellec s sleeve as Guenn s 
 imploring gaze sought Ilamor s in vain. " Did you 
 see?" he asked in a jealous whisper. "Did you see 
 her look at that gars?" 
 
 Rodellec turned, and stared with evil significance in 
 Nives s sullen eyes. " What I want to know," and an 
 ugly emphasis fell upon each word with which the father 
 aspersed his child, "is who gave her her 
 clothes ? " 
 
 " Curse him ! " Nives s voice trembled with rage and 
 hate. 
 
 The two went aside and spoke low together. As 
 they turned suddenly they almost stumbled over Nannie. 
 
 "Out of the way ! " Rodellec exclaimed harshby. 
 " Can t I move without having you on my heels?" 
 
 "I m not following you, not you not 3*011 " Nan 
 nie chanted with his peculiar stare over his father s 
 left shoulder. Then he had made his way to his sister. 
 
 It was not until after the wrestling-matches that 
 Hamor was again near Guenn. Seeing her, he said 
 amiably : "I must go and congratulate my little model, 
 who is bursting with pride, I presume, and sighing for
 
 GUENN. 305 
 
 more worlds to conquer. She would never forgive me, 
 if I should fail to pay my respects with her other 
 swains." 
 
 " That is thoughtful," replied the Danish girl approv 
 ingly. "Please tell her for me how beautifully she 
 danced. It was as if she wore Hans Andersen s Two 
 Little Dancing Shoes." 
 
 " Well, Guenn," Hamor said heartily, holding out his 
 hand with a smile, " this is the happiest day of your 
 life, I suppose. I never saw anj thing like your dancing." 
 
 "Did you see it?" Guenn was looking on the 
 ground, drawing figures in the dust with her foot. 
 
 "See it? Of course I saw it. Every step. I was 
 proud of you. I am delighted that you won." 
 
 "Are you glad?" looking up now with a strange 
 wistfulness, and speaking very gentl}*. This was what 
 her soul had craved, but it came too late. 
 
 " What possesses her now?" Hamor wondered. " Is 
 it the sulks or the reaction ? " 
 
 " Guenn," he said, in his most fatherly tone, " if I 
 were you, I would n t stand about so much. I would 
 sit down and rest, and eat and drink something, or 
 you 11 be fit for nothing to-morrow, you know." 
 
 She smiled bravely. He needed her still. Our pic 
 ture needed her. That comfort was left. 
 
 " Thanks, monsieur. I am not wearj r . I shall look 
 very pretty for you to-morrow. Have no fear." 
 
 Hamor rejoined his friends, stopping suddenly on the 
 wa} T to sketch Herve Rodellec and Loic, still standing 
 apart, their heads together in sombre talk. " Mischief 
 brewing for somebody, and happily a good genre picture 
 as they stand. I am grateful to the rascals for a new 
 idea and their most interesting profiles," Hamor went 
 carelessly on. He had no time to draw Nannie, who 
 
 20
 
 306 GUENN. 
 
 lay on his back at full length on the grass, staring 
 vaguely up at the sky. Rodellec spoke to him. The 
 boy, muttering to himself, did not answer. Rodellec 
 shrugged his shoulders, but took the precaution to in 
 crease the distance between them. Nannie very grad 
 ually lessened it without changing his attitude, or 
 ceasing his incantations, working himself along the 
 grass in complete unconsciousness of all mundane things. 
 Rodellec lowered his voice. But Nannie had excellent 
 ears. "They are blasting at Trevignan," he heard 
 distinctly. " One of us, with a good horse, can manage 
 it in two hours." "You," replied Rodellec. "They 
 will miss you less." After this, Nannie s expression 
 became singularly pure and rapt, and the two men for 
 got him. 
 
 There was, in general, an abundance of rough sport 
 at the Pardon, a remarkable misuse of muscle, an enor 
 mous waste of brute force in unscientific trials of 
 strength. The strangers, however, found the vigorous 
 wrestling worth watching, even with a certain enthusi 
 asm. A famous Scaer wrestler threw every adversary 
 flat upon the turf, almost with a touch, and won the 
 plaudits of the whole dense ring of spectators, standing 
 in a field on a hill overlooking pretty Nevin. 
 
 Roused to unusual interest in feats of strength, and 
 chatting about the sport of various lands, the paint 
 ers, with the crowd, strolled down to the village. 
 "These fellows have enormous strength," Hamor was 
 saying, "but half of it goes to waste. Nowlookthere, 
 not a man has raised that weight to the highest point. 
 I 11 bet a hat I can do it, and the fact is I have n t much 
 muscle." 
 
 " Done !" said Staunton, comparing Hamor s slender 
 frame with the stalwart sailors standing near.
 
 GUENN. 307 
 
 Hamor laughed. " I had no intention of competing." 
 
 " Oh do," said the Danish girl. " I really wish you 
 would." 
 
 " In that case," began Hamor gallantly, and stepped 
 forward among the men. Some one was swinging the 
 heavy mallet as he drew near. Up flew the measure of 
 the blow, not reaching the highest figure but approach 
 ing it. "That s the highest mark reached to-day," 
 said the crowd, and Herve Rodellec, well pleased and 
 boastful, began to explain his peculiar s} stem to his 
 friends. 
 
 " Allow me," Hamor said civilly, taking the mallet 
 from Rodellec s hand. He had the advantage of height, 
 and throwing his arm well back, with no preliminaiy 
 swings and flourishes, he struck a good straight blow 
 which sent the iron ringing to the top, where it rested 
 suspended a moment before falling. 
 
 "Ah! ah!" cried the bystanders. "Coma now, 
 Rodellec, beat that ! " 
 
 " Oh, it requires no strength," Hamor said amiably. 
 
 Rodellec snatched the mallet from his hand, and, trem 
 bling with rage, struck again. The iron rose but half 
 way. Again and again he tried, but he was too angry 
 to direct his blow. His friends laughed and jeered, as 
 friends are wont to do when one fails in one s speci 
 alty, while Hamor carelessly turned away and went 
 on with his party to other jo} s of the Pardon. 
 
 Poor Guenn was longing for the quiet atelier. How 
 glad she should be to begin work again to-morrow ! 
 Pleasure was cruel pain she found. Weary and sick 
 at heart, she wandered about wherever Jeanne led the 
 way. For once, the passive little friend was the mov 
 ing spirit. " She s that proud," commented the jealous 
 girls, "nothing s good enough for her now, after the
 
 308 GUENN. 
 
 two prizes. Look at her airs ! Anybody would think 
 she was madame the countess, at the old chateau, so 
 weary and languid-like ! " 
 
 " Guenn ! " and Mother Quaper drew near the 3 oung 
 girl, decorated with her silver chain, her package of sil 
 ver embroider} thrust indifferently under her arm, 
 " Guenn," in a hoarse whisper, " stiffen ! Before the 
 world starch is the word. Don t be flabby. Whatever 
 is the matter with you, let your feelings soak at home, 
 and starch them stiff before the world." 
 
 " Who cares? " said Guenn drearily, but straightened 
 herself a little nevertheless. 
 
 "Walkabout. Laugh. Make jokes. Don t be limp. 
 Be starchy. Make the girls mad. And don t let him 
 see you hanging your head." 
 
 To these words of worldly wisdom, which in substance 
 might have been spoken in the highest society, Guenn 
 responded with a startled, " Him? Who? " 
 
 "Bless j-our heart, I don t know," chuckled Mother 
 Quaper ; " but some good-for-nothing gars, sure enough. 
 One o these days you 11 find out what a fool you were 
 to fret about him. Every woman finds that out sooner 
 or later. But to-day, take my advice, or you re not the 
 girl I think you are. Stiffen ! stiffen ! " 
 
 Difficult as it is for a girl in love to take any advice 
 whatever, this stirring appeal to Guenn s pride was not 
 without effect. She was already beginning to stiffen 
 very creditably, when Nannie stood at her elbow. 
 
 "Come into the church as soon as he s gone for a 
 drink. Don t let him see," he said. He was for the 
 moment a clever, energetic boy, with something practi 
 cal on his mind. No weird murmurings and upturned 
 eyes detracted from the directness of his manner. He 
 was gone as suddenly as he had come.
 
 GUENN. 309 
 
 Rodellec soon afforded his children the opportunity 
 for the desired interview. Guenn stole first into the 
 empty church. It was so still there she would have 
 found it restful to remain. Nannie followed. 
 
 "Well?" said Guenn. 
 
 " I can t stay a minute. I must be down there when 
 he comes out." He then made a communication which 
 roused Guenn like an electric shock. 
 
 " The cowards ! " she exclaimed angrily. 
 
 " Do what you please, only don t make a fuss," said 
 the boy with a philosophical air. 
 
 "There s the chief of the police," began Guenn, 
 speaking rapidly, her languor gone, her face keenly 
 intelligent. 
 
 " But no one must see you speak to him." 
 
 " Of course, of course ! " she said hurriedly. 
 
 " And he must promise not to know who did it." 
 
 " No, no ; we can t tell of him. But oh, the cowards, 
 the cowards ! " she exclaimed in fierce scorn. " Go, 
 Nannie. Hurry back. You are an angel." 
 
 " Remember no fuss ! " rejoined Nannie. 
 
 When Rodellec, refreshed, reappeared on the village 
 street, Guenn s angel sat at the door where the father 
 had left him, still repeating his weird cadences, elbows 
 on his knees, head on his hands, shrewd eyes half closed ; 
 and Guenn was singing loud with the other girls, her 
 spirited head nodding the time, her laughter between 
 the stanzas as gay as ever. If it was a little too gay to 
 be quite natural, no one was so hypercritical as to notice 
 that. The Merle sailors thronged about her. She had 
 a saucy word for each, and queened it with a charming 
 tyranny. Hamor, passing, glanced at her and smiled. 
 " Little coquette ! How she revels in it ! But one thing 
 is sure : lovely as she is in repose, she is infinitely
 
 310 GUENN. 
 
 more beautiful in action. While I live I never expect 
 to see such a play of emotion on a girl s face, such 
 warmth, such superb color, such tenderness of outline. 
 I wonder if a refined woman ever had all that. 
 Scarcely possible," he concluded; "there s too much 
 individuality there for civilization." 
 
 The ga3*est and most gallant of the Merle sailors 
 walked proudly by her side. She had no wish to hurt 
 her trusty Alain ; but when the heart is full of anxiety 
 and excitement, and one must talk and laugh and con 
 ceal one s pain from the world, strangers are better 
 company than old friends. With a friend one grows 
 absent, confesses one s weakness, and forgets one s role ; 
 while with the stranger, with whom one has no past, it 
 is easier to seem to live in the present. Mother Quaper, 
 watching Guenn s strained mirth, felicitated herself upon 
 her cleverness and the } oung girl s quick response ; 
 while old Andre was fully convinced that he had at last 
 discovered her secret. This then was the man for whom 
 she had cut off her curly locks. " A handsome gars, to 
 be sure, with a merry eye and a straight leg," mused 
 the old stage-driver. "But she d better take a Plou- 
 venec man. Fond of a lass, fond of his glass, and has 
 landed in many ports. H m ! Alain s better for the 
 girl. When the other one sails away, she 11 listen to 
 reason. Ah, these girls, these girls, how little they sus 
 pect that an old fellow like me sees through all the 
 flutterings of their kerchiefs, deep into their foolish little 
 hearts ! " 
 
 Guenn went bravely on through the long day. From 
 the moment she left the church her brilliant spirits 
 never flagged. Her successes fixed themselves tena 
 ciously in the memory of the people, while the tempo 
 rary depression, not unreasonably ascribed to physical
 
 GUENN. 311 
 
 fatigue, was now quite forgotten. Yet beneath her 
 caprices and bewitching nonsense her heart was asking 
 wearily, " Will evening never come?" It seemed years 
 to her since the bright morning, when, full of tremulous 
 happiness, she had come forth to conquer. Uncivilized 
 as Ilamor considered her, she had been acting her 
 part like a trained woman of the world. New powers 
 were awakening within her. It was a da} r of lost illu 
 sions and misery, yet she was jesting still, as she drove 
 back to Plouvenec in the hay-cart, and as they all 
 stopped and touched the trembling-stone in the twilight, 
 and filled the silent fields with laughter. Unperceived 
 she put both hands to her head. " I am old," she sighed. 
 " I have grown so old to-day I shall never be young 
 again. But there is still something to do, something 
 to-night, to-morrow, for many days. If only to-morrow 
 would come and make me forget to-day ! " 
 
 Plouvenec was rougher and noisier than usual that 
 night, crowded with people who had gathered from far 
 and near to go to the Nevin Pardon. Many would 
 not return to their villages and farms until the next 
 morning, but remained to prolong at Plouvenec the 
 material joys of Nevin. Everywhere was incessant 
 carousing. On the common, men and women jostled 
 against one another, a moving, boisterous mass, 
 beside the immovable mass of still, dark battlements 
 on the little island. Salt breezes swept in from the sea 
 to cool the hot heads of such as cared to bare their 
 throbbing temples and receive nature s benign cure. 
 But cider and grog flowed fast, and the orange flame, 
 shining through the glass door, drew innumerable vic 
 tims into its evil glare. 
 
 The chief of the police placed two extra gendarmes 
 on duty, and showed his own mild face everywhere.
 
 312 GUENN. 
 
 This was a matter of form which he observed conscien 
 tiously. As for controlling his Breton folk after a 
 Pardon, only a Breton could realize the absurdity 01 
 any such effort. He was a little surprised when, after 
 nine o clock, Guenn Rodellec unceremoniously pulled 
 him completely into shadow, out of sight and hearing 
 of the crowd. 
 
 " I have been waiting an hour, monsieur," she said 
 breathlessly. I wanted to speak with you and not be 
 seen." 
 
 " Well, what is it, Guenn?" 
 
 "I know something that s going to happen; you 
 must stop it, and you must not suspect or arrest the 
 men who do it." 
 
 " But that is against the law ! " 
 
 "Never mind the law; that s what 3*011 must do," 
 she answered shortly. " no more, no less." 
 
 " Explain what you mean." 
 
 " I shall explain nothing whatever until you prom 
 ise." She put her hands on her hips and stared at him 
 obstinately. 
 
 He hesitated. " Is it something really bad?" 
 
 " Very bad." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall find it out without you." 
 
 " Impossible ! I know the village better than you." 
 
 " And why can }"ou not tell me? " . 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, then seized his arms. 
 "Trust me, monsieur," she said impetuously, " I know 
 what I am talking about. Give me your promise. 
 Let me tell }-ou what to do. Indeed, I know Plouvenec 
 better than you, monsieur ; }-ou yourself have no doubt 
 of that." 
 
 " But an accessor}- of a crime," began the young man 
 feebly.
 
 GUENN. 313 
 
 " Bah ! The men are the same, whether they do this 
 thing or not. If they mean to do a bad thing, they are 
 as bad as if the} had done it. You can t change them, 
 but you can prevent harm to others. Will you, or will 
 you not? If you will not, I shall go to some one else." 
 
 He began to suspect who one at least of the culprits 
 was. "You could not prevent the whole thing your 
 self? " he asked cautiously. 
 
 "Well I could yes," she answered gloomily; 
 but it would be bad the next time anything is brew 
 ing, you know." 
 
 lie felt sorry for her. Her voice sounded, for the 
 moment, weary and depressed ; and she had been so 
 beautiful and bright all day at the Pardon, and had 
 danced so divinely. 
 
 " Well?" she inquired with impatience. 
 
 "It s terribly out of order, but I ll do it, since it s 
 you, Guenn Rodellec. I trust you. I promise." 
 
 She shook his hand warmly. " Good. Now listen ! 
 Two men will try to set fire to Morot s granary to-night. 
 Thej* will light a slow-match ; run to the shore, where 
 the boat that brought them will be waiting ; come round 
 the point, land again, and show themselves quite harm 
 less and respectable to their friends before they go 
 home. They will both be safe in their beds when the 
 fire breaks out. The slow-match will burn an hour. 
 You see you have only to put it out. That s the be 
 ginning and end of the matter." 
 
 " I see ; and at what time?" 
 
 " The two men will come behind the granary just 
 before twelve." 
 
 " I will be on the spot nryself ; I will watch them." 
 
 "But you will do no such thing," said the girl 
 impatiently. "You have promised. You will give
 
 314 GUENN. 
 
 them time to get away ; you will see nobody ; you will 
 know nobody. Don t come till they are gone. There 
 is no danger now that you. know ; you will have oceans 
 of time." 
 
 He shook his head in doubt. 
 
 Don t you see I can t do anything else ? I can t, 
 I can t, I can t ! " she cried fiercely, forgetting her 
 caution. 
 
 "Hush, Guenn ! I will do exactly as you wish. 
 No one else knows this, besides you and the two 
 men?" 
 
 " Only my brother." 
 
 " It would be a bad place for a fire, those dr}* build 
 ings, and the wheelwright s workshop, and the horses 
 with all the hay and straw, and madame with her babies 
 so near." 
 
 " And the beautiful, beautiful paintings, that one 
 works upon with fine little touches so long, and that 
 one loves so dearly ! Ah, how terrible that would be ! " 
 clasping her hands. 
 
 " Ah }-es, Monsieur Hamor s paintings," the young 
 man said innocently. " I had forgotten. Good! We 
 will try to save everj thing. It is a blessing that you 
 discovered this, for there s scarcely a man fit to hand a 
 bucket to-night. You are a good girl, Guenn." 
 
 " That s as it may be," she returned indifferently. 
 
 " And 3"ou? You will not be watching too? " 
 
 " I shall be in bed, like all the honest people who 
 know nothing about it," she sneered. 
 
 He perceived at once that she too intended to be 
 conspicuously at home. " It was the right thing to 
 come to me," looking at her approvingly. " You are 
 always clever." 
 
 " Oh, I should have come to the cure of the Lannions
 
 GUENN. 315 
 
 if he had been here," she answered bluntly. " I came 
 to you because I had no choice. Good-night, monsieur." 
 
 " Good-night, Guenn." 
 
 Suddenly she sprang towards him again. "Mon 
 sieur," she said in an eager whisper, " if you take away 
 every trace of the slow-match, and keep quiet, and 
 never let on that you suspect anybody, don t you see, 
 it will be the surest way to prevent him them from 
 tn ing it again ? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because he, I mean the men, will think Morot s 
 ghost " she crossed herself with a wholesome respect 
 for the revenant, and hoped she was committing no sin 
 in dragging his influence into the affair "watches over 
 the place." 
 
 " True enough, Guenn. I never thought of that." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. " Men never think of 
 anything that helps. Now mind you do exactly what 
 I tell you." 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered the chief of the police 
 meekly. 
 
 She went swiftly across the common. The girls and 
 sailors called to her to staj" and sing. Their screaming 
 voices jarred upon her. She did not answer. Some of 
 them seized her. " Don t be proud, Guenn, if you 
 are the best dancer," they cried , laughing and pulling 
 her roughly back. "Stay and be jolly ! We sha n t 
 let you go," said the handsomest Merle sailor, his 63-68 
 heavy with grog. 
 
 She looked at their faces in the light of the lantern, 
 hanging from a tree and swinging in the wind. The 
 girls were hoydenish, the men excited and flushed. 
 They were quite capable of detaining her in rough sport, 
 and she wished to go on. The boatswain of the Merle
 
 316 GUENN. 
 
 was the oldest man among them, and had the kindest 
 face. With a clever instinct she moved so that her 
 little figure stood close at his side, and her charming 
 face, scarcely reaching his shoulder, looked up to him for 
 protection. 
 
 " Make them let me alone," she said simply. " I am 
 tired. I want to go home." 
 
 She did not need to ask twice. In an instant the 
 Bacchantes were flung back ; and the girl, with neither 
 thanks nor a thought for her rescuer, ran on. 
 
 Crouching by the glass door, where the orange light 
 streamed out, sat Nannie. As his sister came near, 
 he merely raised his ej-ebrows. 
 
 She nodded significant!}- ; then said, with her eyes 
 fixed anxiously on the door, " Can you come now? " 
 
 "I m to wait for him. He s afraid of me. He s 
 afraid I heard. He s afraid I 11 tell. As if I ever tell ! 
 So he s kept me near him all day. As if I would do 
 him any harm ! Poor, dear, lame, little me ! " In 
 Nannie s leer was a world of malicious triumph. 
 
 "Well then, I ll go. I wish you could come too, 
 Nannie," she added gently. 
 
 " Can t ; and 3*011 d better shoot along pretty fast, 
 let me tell you that. He may come out any time. 
 He s only pretending to drink, no more drunk than 
 I am," chuckled the cripple. 
 
 Guenn turned to go ; then suddenly in a low voice : 
 "You were always the best boy that ever lived, Nannie 
 Rodellec, the very most splendid boy, the best brother 
 that ever a girl had," she began ; " but what you have 
 done to-day, well " She pulled at her apron ; her 
 face, pale from weariness, began to flush ; bold Guenn 
 stammered, trembled, and found no words. 
 
 " You go home," returned Nannie, nodding his head
 
 GUENN. 317 
 
 slowh" and looking at her with half-closed eyes. " Girls 
 are fools, awful fools." 
 
 Guenn avoided the centre of the noisy common, steal 
 ing along in the shadow on its farther side b} T the 
 water. She stood a moment within sight of the window 
 of an upper room in the Grand Hotel, where the three 
 painters often plaj ed whist with a friend. She had 
 seen them enter the inn early this evening. Now a 
 tall shadow appeared on the curtain. She chose to 
 think it was Hamor s, and went home the dark lonely 
 road a little happier for the thought. 
 
 All her senses were on the alert. Never had she 
 more clearly heard the grass and herbs growing, and 
 the trees stretching themselves. She saw strange fig 
 ures flitting about the great menhir, and moving things 
 along the fosses. Crossing herself mechanically, she 
 went her way undaunted and undisturbed, keenly con 
 scious of the supernatural world, but not fearing it for 
 herself. " I never trouble them. AVhy should they 
 trouble me ! " she thought. " And warnings only come 
 from one s own people. One s neighbors ghosts have 
 enough to do to attend to their own affairs." She 
 reached the dark house, and crept into her bed. Her 
 brain was on fire. Her body seemed to find nothing 
 to support it. Even lying at rest, she felt herself 
 always sinking, as if the bed and the floor and the 
 cottage were falling into fathomless depths. "He 
 told rne to eat. If I eat I may be prettier to-morrow." 
 She rose wearily, drank some milk, and ate a bit of 
 crepe. 
 
 When her father and Nannie came home, Rodellec 
 saw her lying in apparently gentle sleep ; her dark 
 lashes did not quiver as he held his candle up suspi 
 ciously. But as soon as he was gone she opened her
 
 318 GUENN. 
 
 eyes and stared into the darkness many hours, not 
 tossing restlessly but always with the strange sinking 
 feeling which sometimes follows great mental excite 
 ment. And alwa^-s she saw the Nevin crowd, and 
 Hamor s face turned away from her. " If he would 
 look at me just once, I think I could go to sleep. I 
 must sleep, for I must be pretty to-morrow. Why can 
 I not sleep, when the beautiful pictures are safe? He 
 loves them so. lie works so hard on them." She 
 grasped the old walnut bedstead to keep herself from 
 sinking. 
 
 That night nothing disastrous happened in Plouvenec. 
 About twelve o clock two men landed softh* at a 
 point on the shore not far from Morot s granary, stole 
 through the dark lane behind it, stooped and whispered 
 together, remained but a few moments and went as 
 stealthily as they had come. When the gentle plash 
 of their oars was heard again, a small man, concealed 
 behind an adjacent house, who, whatever his unavoida 
 ble surmises must have been, had scrupulously refrained 
 from any endeavor to penetrate their incognito, walked 
 quietly from his ambush and put his foot on a tiny 
 spark creeping slowly along the grass. 
 
 " Pretty little Guenn," he said to himself with a smile. 
 "She s a good girl. She ought to be satisfied now. 
 And queer as it is, I m happier than if I had to arrest 
 old Rodellec and Loic Nives. Of course it s Nives. 
 Clever little girl, good little girl. She doesn t seem 
 to have much of an opinion of me." 
 
 The chief of the police sighed, and went home re 
 membering Guenn s beautiful eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 N an old scow, which Guenn 
 kept well in position before 
 the ferry, Hamor was now 
 working mornings. He drew 
 the walls and battlements, 
 the gateway and the rocks ; 
 then, in the atelier, made 
 many sketches of Guenn 
 swinging the great oar, and 
 half a dozen ebauches, large 
 and small, before he was 
 satisfied with his conception. His whole guard, as 
 a matter of course, alwa3"s escorted him, Jeanne 
 knitting in comfortable unconsciousness of the forces at 
 work near her ; Nannie, silent hour after hour, observ 
 ant, malicious, impenetrable, his pale face wearing its 
 strange air of expectancy. The people who came and 
 went continually across the ferry saw only a painter 
 scowling at his work, a boat moored some distance out, 
 a girl holding it against the current, some children in 
 the stern. The painters were always making pictures 
 of those old gray walls. Surely the Plouvenec church, 
 new and painted white, was prettier, thought the peas 
 ants and sailors. But even the}* would have been 
 satisfied with Hamor s choice had they known that the
 
 320 GUENN. 
 
 most charming thing in the village, Guenn Rodellec 
 herself, with all her strength and grace and beauty and 
 freshness, was to illumine the canvas like sunlight 
 falling warmly upon the cold stone of the fortress. 
 
 Hamor having at last, after his man}" studies, re 
 solved upon his composition was working busily, in his 
 floating atelier, painting the frowning old battlements. 
 The vein in the middle of his forehead, tacitly recognized 
 by his vassals as a danger-signal, was invisible. He 
 and the girls grew social, while the spirit of the ancient 
 Breton bard stirred in Nannie s ambitious heart. "If 
 I lived by the Raz, I would row a boat full of souls 
 souls, souls," he chanted. 
 
 " That would be easy work, Nannie. Souls must be 
 light freight." 
 
 " Oh no, monsieur," cried Guenn. " Indeed they are 
 not." 
 
 "Well, I can t say I know much about them," he 
 answered smiling. 
 
 "You are a fisherman," she began impressively. 
 " You are sleeping in 3 our cottage on the shore of the 
 Raz. At midnight you hear a knock. You rise. You 
 open the door. No one is there. You go down to the 
 water. There is a strange boat. You see no one. 
 But the boat is so loaded it can scarcely float. You 
 row it across. It is so hea\ T 3 T , you can hardly row. 
 Yet in an hour you take the boat farther than you could 
 by yourself in a whole night. You are deathly cold. 
 You hear moans and wails and gnashing of teeth and 
 grinding of bones. And always the boat grows heavier, 
 heavier with souls." 
 
 "With souls souls souls," cried Nannie. 
 
 " It would be a most impracticable business for me," 
 Hamor remarked gravely. "In the first place, I am a
 
 GUENN. 321 
 
 man who needs considerable sleep. Then your descrip 
 tion suggests no motives for pictures. I think I will 
 not at once decide to become a Kaz fisherman. Paint 
 ing has its disadvantages; still, upon the whole" he 
 was speaking slowhy, painting something that required 
 care, " rowing souls about for pastime " He forgot 
 what he was about to say, stopped absentby, losing 
 himself in his work. 
 
 Watching the painter closely, Nannie broke into a 
 free, loud laugh, checked himself suddenly, and assumed 
 his solemn mask. 
 
 " Well? " Ilamor looked over his shoulder at them. 
 " What were we talking about? Oh 3-68, souls ! Now, 
 Guenn, what made the souls so heavy? " 
 
 " Sins." 
 
 ; Indeed. What do you suppose the very heaviest 
 one had done, the one that weighed a ton, for in 
 stance ? " 
 
 " Betrayed his friend," replied the } oung girl 
 promptly, a fine scorn curving her lips. 
 
 " His friend? Suppose it were a she." 
 
 " Meme chose," said Guenn. "His friend or her 
 friend. It s all the same. It s the worst sin." 
 
 " What is the next worst? " 
 
 u For a girl? To be fiancee three times without 
 manning." 
 
 Ilamor laughed heartilv. 
 
 O */ 
 
 " If you are a girl, and are fiancee three times with 
 out marrying, you will burn in hell," Guenu remarked 
 with immovable conviction. 
 
 "Is that true? " 
 
 " Oh, there s nothing truer than that," she answered 
 emphatically. 
 
 " It seems an altogether proper punishment," he said 
 
 21
 
 322 GUENN. 
 
 soberly, " but I think it is not generally anticipated in 
 my country. I don t think our girls know it." 
 
 " They d better !" Guenn said bluntly. "You d 
 better tell them." 
 
 " I will," returned Hamor gravely ; " I will certainly 
 mention it." 
 
 He was painting successfully. This weather suited 
 him. Soon he could have Guenn pose at the islands. 
 He whistled cheerfully. It was amusing, working in 
 an old scow, and listening to her naive theories of 
 sin and retribution. The girl had a fair amount of 
 rough honesty in her composition, good clean ideas 
 which auy girl might be proud of. How sensibly she 
 was behaving too ; how helpful she was. He liked her 
 very much at this moment, and amiably desired to give 
 her a pleasure. 
 
 " Guenn," he said kindry, " when you are fiancee, 
 and I am sure that will be but once, I will give you a 
 beautiful present." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed little Jeanne rapturously. Guenn 
 leaned on her oar, and looked at him. 
 
 " And 3 ou too, Jeanne," added Hamor. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Jeanne again. 
 
 " But you must tell me what you want, of course, and 
 who the lucky gars is." 
 
 " Of course," assented Jeanne. 
 
 "And whether 3-011 would like something for your 
 house or something to wear, your wedding gown for 
 instance? " 
 
 " Guenn, would you like monsieur to give 3-011 \-our 
 wedding gown?" demanded Jeanne, nudging her friend 
 with an eager elbow. 
 
 "There s time enough, monsieur," muttered Guenn. 
 With the effort to conceal her pain, her face grew 
 sullen.
 
 GUENN. 323 
 
 "Curious temper," thought Hamor, "unaccounta 
 ble ! One would suppose she would be rather more 
 gracious under the circumstances." 
 
 "Oh well, arrange it to suit yourselves," he said care 
 lessly. "When the happ} time comes, write me a let 
 ter, and I ll send you anything, to the half of my 
 kingdom." 
 
 " Jeanne will have her gars and her wedding gown," 
 Nannie began solemnly, "but Guenn wears the mark 
 of Saint Divy." 
 
 " Who in the world is he, and what is his mark? " 
 
 " Saint Dhy, the son of Saint Nonne ; " and Nannie 
 pointed with a crooked finger to a blue line between the 
 eyebrows, visible on his own face as on his sister s. 
 " Early death, early death," he said in his singing 
 voice. 
 
 Strong as were Guenn s fatalism and superstition, 
 she always felt a curious objection to the popular 
 interpretation of this little blue line. Her great vitality 
 seemed to protest against being summarily reduced to 
 nothingness by such a trifle. " What is }*oung? What 
 is old?" she said with a shrug, flushing a little and 
 looking somewhat defiant. " There is old Josephe. 
 She has the blue line too." 
 
 " But she prayed. Saint Divy will come to } our aid 
 if } - ou pray enough," Jeanne explained. " Nannie, if 
 3-011 would sing less and praj r more," she added in her 
 sensible fashion, " you could arrange things very nicely 
 with Saint Div} T . He is not at all disobliging. You 
 know you have more time to pray than Guenn ; one can 
 not expect Guenn to pray much." 
 
 " Early death, early death," persisted the boy, rolling 
 up his eyes. 
 
 "Come, come, Nannie," said Hamor, "don t be so
 
 324 GUENN. 
 
 gloomy. You 11 give us all the blue-devils, with your 
 blue-Divy croakings. I must sa}-, I don t think Divy 
 is a pious name for a saint. But if he painted those 
 violet tones round Guenn s eyes, he was a man of taste, 
 and I respect him. And we 11 all pray to him as hard 
 as we can, so that he will leave us Guenn and her beau 
 tiful eyes man} a long }-ear. What should we all do, 
 indeed, without Guenn? AVhat would the picture do? " 
 he said in the kindest voice, with an affectionate glance 
 at her. 
 
 A moment before, she felt the strange pain and hope 
 lessness which she had never known until monsieur had 
 come into her life, and which a smiling word of his, in 
 his happiest mood, could so suddenl}- and cruelly con 
 jure up. Sweethearts and wedding gowns ! Well, 
 wiry should he not speak of them ? Yet his idle, kindly 
 talk cut her to the heart. The thought of any closer 
 relationship than that in which she now served and 
 worshipped him had never entered, could by no possi 
 bility enter, her mind. But living in him and for him, 
 with all the passionate force of her nature, she was 
 equally incapable of grasping the idea of a life where 
 he was riot. She knew as a remote matter of fact, 
 that he was going away. She did not actually realize 
 that he was going, except now and then for one cruel 
 moment, as now, when he had spoken of the wedding 
 gown. 
 
 Not alone his light suggestion of separation and 
 absence caused that sickening despair to over-master 
 her, but a vague yet painful consciousness of the gulf 
 between them, over which he smiled at her, and gayly 
 flung his gifts and pleasant words. Fierce jealous}^ of 
 the unknown future, and the influences which would 
 draw him from her ; unconscious rebellion against
 
 GUENN. 325 
 
 the incongruity of the situation ; a perfectly womanly 
 longing to be more to him, to do more for him, met 
 always by his disappointing elusiveness which might 
 grieve even a woman of his own class, such emotions 
 swept through her heart with stormy violence. With a 
 word he could rouse the tempest. With a word he could 
 still it. She never knew why she was miserable or 
 happy : she could not have explained why she resented 
 his careless bestowal of her, in fancy, upon another 
 man, his manying her off and gayly decking her with 
 bridal finery. She only knew the pain was gone. Our 
 picture ! How she loved it. She smiled and colored 
 brilliantly under Hamor s glance, moved the oar gently 
 to and fro, and looked at the canvas sweetby, as a young 
 mother looks at her little child protecting, tender, with 
 rapt wonder and infinite devotion. 
 
 " It s worth while irritating her a little, if only to see 
 how beautiful she is when she softens again," Hamor 
 reflected. " The fact is, I am too apt to forget that 
 freak of hers. She is obstinate when I speak of going 
 away. She likes to pretend I am going to stay forever. 
 Well, if she chooses to be an ostrich, and bury her head 
 in the sand, I can t help it. All women do it." He 
 whistled softly, and looked critically at his work. Nan 
 nie was crooning something about a tall man, dark, 
 thin and pale, walking through a bog and followed by a 
 black dog. Hamor discovered finally that he was 
 listening to a curious Breton version of the story of 
 Abelard and Helo ise, the unfortunate Heloise figuring 
 as a magician or witch, making strange compacts with 
 the powers of nature like an ancient Druidess, and 
 assuming at will the form of a black dog, a crow, a 
 dragon, or a firefly. When the two weird companions 
 appeared, a storm followed.
 
 326 GUENN. 
 
 " They did raise rather a storm," said Haraor. 
 
 " They were sweethearts," Nannie suddenly an 
 nounced, deigning to assume an umnystic tone. 
 
 u He must rest now and then, the little farceur," 
 Hamor reflected, "it s amusing to see him slip out of 
 his role." 
 
 "I would like to be a sweetheart if I could change 
 myself into a black dog. I must learn that," Nannie 
 added gravely. 
 
 "Yes, you must," rejoined Ilamor. 
 
 " I would like to be a sweetheart like Mr. Staun- 
 ton s," said Jeanne. 
 
 " Does that mean yon would like to be Mr. Staunton s 
 sweetheart?" Hamor asked, smiling. 
 
 " Mon dieu no," cried Jeanne, abashed. 
 
 " Mr. Stauuton is not a bad fellow," Guenn re 
 marked gravely. 
 
 " Thanks. I will tell him you think so." 
 
 " I have often told him myself," Guenn replied care 
 lessly. " I have told him I like him a little, not much 
 indeed, and that I don t like Monsieur Douglas at all." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I don t know, but I don t like him. It is easy to 
 know whom you like ; it is not eas} to know why." 
 
 " But Douglas is kind to }*ou, Guenn." 
 
 "I know it. But I don t like him. One doesn t 
 like people because they are kind, or dislike them be 
 cause they are unkind." 
 
 " Some do." 
 
 "I don t." 
 
 " I am sure Jeanne does, for instance." Hamor smiled 
 at the gentle little face, undisturbed by any strong 
 feeling. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur. I always like people who are 
 kind," she answered demurel} .
 
 GUENtf. 327 
 
 "And if I don t like them," Guenn began in her 
 emotional, magnetic way, her head erect, her eyes glow 
 ing, " they may rain louis d or on me, or weep and 
 beg and crawl at my feet ; they may smile like God s 
 angels, sail round the whole great world to please 
 me, reach up to heaven and give me a shining star, and 
 be kind oh, kind as the kindest, and still I don t 
 like them, if I don t ! " 
 
 "And if you do, Guenn?" Hamor said gently, 
 turning and looking over his shoulder, straight into 
 her eyes. 
 
 "And if I do,"- her voice, before arrogant and 
 audacious, fell to a low passionate tone, "and if I 
 do they may hurt me, hate me, beat me, starve me, 
 kill me and still I like them, if I do ! " 
 
 " Whom do you like in that way, Guenn? " asked the 
 painter. He meant no harm in obeying the caprice of 
 the moment. Where so much feeling was freely prof 
 fered, what man would resist playing with it? 
 
 Guenn trembled. His eyes were seeking hers. His 
 words were sweet to her soul. The fascination of his 
 great gentleness was irresistible, and when he spoke 
 so tenderly, she could have fallen and covered his feet 
 with kisses. But nearer her, peering up into her face, 
 with a searching, largely ^intelligent, commanding look, 
 was the pale, wizened humpback. To him too her 
 great heart responded with unspeakable affection. A 
 maidenly instinct caused her, a beautiful color waver 
 ing in her cheeks, to turn slightly from the painter. 
 Stretching out her hand towards her brother, she re 
 garded Hamor with a certain appealing and pathetic 
 dignity. " My Nannie," she answered softly. 
 
 This was not what Hamor had expected, but he 
 admired her very much.
 
 328 GUENN. 
 
 " Girls are fools," remarked Nannie curtly, "awful 
 fools." 
 
 Guenn merely smiled in response. 
 
 " When is Monsieur Staunton going to marry his 
 sweetheart?" began Jeanne s tranquil voice, her 
 thoughts fixed upon practical things. 
 
 "Soon, I believe," Hamor replied; "next month." 
 
 " And she paints pictures too, does n t she ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And will they both paint pictures after they are 
 married?" inquired Jeanne, laughing, apparently find 
 ing something delightfully droll in the idea. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then who will cook and take care of the babies? " 
 
 Hamor laughed. "Jeanne, that s a question that 
 puzzles many a wiser head than yours. I presume the 
 one that paints the less will have to take care of the 
 babies. But that would be a pity, confound them ! 
 for mademoiselle is a stronger artist than most of the 
 men down here. If they d asked my advice," he 
 went on with a quizzical air, more to himself than to 
 his hearers, "I should have first said don t, and then, 
 don t again don t, and always, don t." 
 
 " Wh} , monsieur?" Guenn asked abruptly, facing 
 him with a look of eager inquiry. 
 
 " Because, my dear Mademoiselle Rodcllec," 
 stepping as far back in the boat as was possible and 
 scrutinizing his picture, " one of the few profoundly 
 solid and immovable opinions which I possess is that 
 a painter ought not to marry anybody. As for mar 
 rying another painter great heavens ! it is madness. 
 But I know one man who will keep out of that, 
 whatever other snare he may fall into, and his name 
 is Everett Hamor at 3 our service, mesdames et
 
 GUENN. 329 
 
 monsieur," with a grand swooping bow all over the 
 boat. 
 
 Jeanne and Nannie laughed heartily. This bow was 
 a kind of wit which the} appreciated. Guenn swung 
 the great oar as if it were light as a feather. She did 
 not feel its weight. Her slight waist leaned warmh* on 
 it, moved sj-mpathetically with it to the right, to the 
 left, as it made innumerable ripples in its broad sweep. 
 Her radiant face looked across to the other shores and 
 above the hills all smoky blue, and far into towering 
 gray cloud-masses, with an indefinite promise of hap 
 piness in their golden edges, and a pale-rose sea of 
 hopefulness closing in all around. 
 
 " Ah, mon (lieu, que la vie est amere ! " 
 
 she sang, joyful as a bobolink in the springtime. 
 
 " Jeanne," turning suddenly upon the affectionate 
 but phlegmatic little knitter, "sometimes you are as 
 stupid as Victoria. Do stop knitting. Do wake up." 
 Brilliant, rosy, impetuous, exacting, " Do be nice," she 
 said to her placid and harmless friend. 
 
 " Non, le roi Arthur n est pas mort ! " Nannie was 
 now chanting. "King Arthur is not dead. He will 
 return." 
 
 Guenn looked as if she thought the fair king had re 
 turned, bringing honor, joy, and peace to the land, 
 most of all to her, his chosen handmaid.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ""\7"OU see it is fairly well along, monsieur le cure"," 
 J- Hamor said cheerfully. 
 
 " I see, monsieur." 
 
 "But at this stage of its progress I decidedly need 
 Guenn." 
 
 "You need Guenn," repeated the priest mechani 
 cally. 
 
 "Now there s some sense in posing over here," 
 remarked the 3 T oung girl with a bright laugh. "I 
 always felt like a fool, trying to row in monsieur s ate 
 lier. Here, thank heaven, one knows what one is 
 about." She looked smilingly from her boat at the 
 two young men on the rocks, Hamor intently study 
 ing his canvas, Tlrymert, grave and dark, standing near 
 him with folded arms.
 
 GUENN. 331 
 
 "Yes, I must change that," Hamor muttered, step 
 ping backwards, and looking through his hand. Posez, 
 Guenn, throw yourself more Ah! that s it. Now, 
 is n t she exquisite ? " with a burst of enthusiasm to the 
 cure. " They may talk till the}* are black in the face," 
 he said, " but this freedom and freshness she can 
 only have when she is actually rowing, instead of pre 
 tending to row. Two da}~s here are worth more to me 
 than months of cobbling in the atelier. She is already 
 sketched in, as well as I could sketch her there. But 
 you will soon see the difference, monsieur le cure , all 
 the difference in the world," he was painting steadily 
 " the difference between truth and life, and what we 
 call chic. Can I feel the pressure of the water against 
 her oar in the atelier? Can she? Can I paint it? No ! 
 a thousand times, no. Well then." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," replied the priest ab 
 sently. 
 
 "You can be sure enough that I feel the current," 
 Guenn called out merrily. "Oh, how it pulls! But 
 I m good for it, and that s a mercy." 
 
 "If the winds don t finally sweep us all away, that 
 will be another mercy ; " and Hamor pulled down his 
 beret firmly. " Your islands always seem to resent 
 the presence of strangers. If one were not able to 
 fall back upon your hospitality, monsieur le cure*, one 
 would be in a bad way out here, left to the fury of the 
 elements," with a civil smile at his host. 
 
 " What are you going to do with that picture when 
 it s finished, monsieur?" Thymert demanded with 
 brusque irrelevance. 
 
 "Why, it s for the Salon. Have you forgotten?" 
 cried Guenn. 
 
 " Yes, it s for the Salon, monsieur le cure."
 
 332 GUENN. 
 
 "There are a great many people at the Salon?" 
 asked the priest slowly, looking at Hamor. 
 
 "Millions," Guenn hastened to say, "ladies with 
 dresses bunched-up behind, gentlemen with little glass 
 windows in one eye all walking up and down in 
 rooms miles and miles long, all looking at the pic 
 ture, all clasping their hands and saying : Mon 
 dieu, what a beautiful picture this picture of Monsieur 
 Hamor s is ! " 
 
 Hamor smiled with indulgence for the flattering 
 exaggeration. Then, " Monsieur le cure," he said 
 amiably, " now you will observe, to a certain extent, 
 what I was trying to explain. Notice the effect of 
 the wind. It increases the action incalculably. I did 
 not have it before. See the water Guenn s skirt 
 blown straight back against the knees. Charming, 
 charming ! " 
 
 "And after the Salon, monsieur?" continued the 
 priest with singular insistence. 
 
 " Oh,"- Harnor was not a little surprised at Thy- 
 mert s complete want of interest in his explanation, but 
 went on with frank good-humor "after the Salon? 
 Why I hope to sell it, of course," laughing, and looking at 
 the grave and dark face with happy confidence. " Shall 
 I confess? Well, I hope somebody will be fool enough 
 to pay ten thousand francs for it. But I would take 
 five thousand ; and I beg you not to think me mean- 
 spirited if, in case I am as hard up in the spring as I 
 expect to be, and as it is in fact my habit to become 
 about that time, I might be induced to take three 
 thousand, and sa} T , Thank you kindly, sir, to boot ! " 
 
 Guenn threw back her head and laughed heartily. 
 She had heard all this before, but she alwaj S found it 
 amusing. Thymert did not seem to discover the amus-
 
 GUENN. 333 
 
 ing element in it. He wore a perplexed look, implying 
 fruitless mental search. His sad eyes wandered hope 
 lessly over his nine barren islands rich in courage, 
 duty, and devotion, but ah, so poor in gold ! He 
 came nearer the canvas. Guenn stood there, surely, 
 in flesh and blood, charming, beautiful, and daring. 
 He started. 
 
 "It is the few last touches that have done it," Ha- 
 mor said pleasantly. " Before, she was a milliner s 
 doll. Now she is Guenn, the inimitable Guenn." 
 
 Managing her boat with the strength of a man, yet 
 exquisitely girlish and graceful, rude and wild, yet 
 honest, fearless, and good, the } oung girl on the can 
 vas was looking frankly into the priest s eyes. He 
 could almost see the rise and fall of the little red ker 
 chief, the warm color coming and going in her cheeks, 
 and although the face was earnest, such was the sug 
 gestion of superabundant 3 outh and vitality conveyed 
 by Hamor s truthful touch, almost the mischievous 
 smiles pla}-ing about her lovely mouth. He could 
 almost hear her wild sweet laughter, the sweetest and 
 most innocent in the whole world. All the pretty 
 curves of the lips were there, curves that always re 
 minded Thymert of her babyhood. The short, decided 
 nose was exactly Guenn s ; the dark blue eyes, with their 
 perfect simplicit3~, their faithfulness and boldness, were 
 gazing directly into his ; and there she stood, swinging 
 the enormous oar in the white-capped waves, so fearless 
 and strong, so beautiful poor little Guenn ! and all 
 the men and women at the Salon would stare at 
 her, and chatter about her as the strangers did at 
 breakfast that day ; and she would look at them, and 
 not be troubled or afraid. When was Guenn Rodellec 
 afraid? But oh, the pity of it the pity and the
 
 334 GUENN. 
 
 shame ! Three thousand francs? " Louis Morot has it 
 and to spare," whispered a tempting voice in his heart. 
 " Get thee behind me, Satan," replied his conscience. 
 " I take help for my poor people, never for myself. 
 This is for myself. God knows, only for myself. It 
 is the wish of my own heart ; yet I promised Barba 
 to take care of the children." 
 
 " We painters are a singularly misunderstood body 
 of men," Hamor remarked geniall}-, reflecting that if. 
 the priest, as was evident, had small interest in the 
 sentiment or the technique of a picture, he might at 
 least care to listen to some practical considerations. 
 " Now I ask you how many people who will see this 
 painting will realize that it represents six months 
 honest labor, that I had to live in the mean time and 
 pay my debts, and that even the canvas does not grow 
 on a bush, inviting every passer-by to pluck it. After 
 all, a picture is not a dream. It is daily bread." 
 
 " It is his daily bread," thought the priest with a hot 
 flash in his dark ej es, " yet I wish I could chop it to 
 pieces, and throw it into the sea. It would hurt me to 
 destroy it, because it is Guenn. I would turn away 
 1113* head, so as not to see myself cut the lovely face ; 
 but rather than have the little girl stared at and talked 
 about by that Paris world, and she all the time looking 
 out of her honest eyes without a thought of harm 
 
 " People seem to imagine," Hamor continued with 
 his harmless and pleasing frankness, " that a picture 
 comes springing into existence in answer to the paint 
 er s heaven-born inspiration and mandate. Now it 
 does nothing of the kind. How many times do you 
 think Guenn has posed for this one figure? Well, I 
 have been sketching her surreptitiously ever since 
 I came to Plouvenec. Through all the little studies
 
 GUENN. 335 
 
 I have made of her, this has been continually in my 
 mind. We have done weeks of work in the atelier for 
 it preparation, you know. I have nearlj- a dozen 
 charcoal-sketches, and almost as many ebauches ; and 
 I must say Guenn s patient devotion to the cause has 
 been marvellous," he added, smiling kindly at her. 
 " Rest a moment, Guenn. Come and see yourself 
 now." *4 
 
 "Well, I never did care so much for anything that 
 is n t alive," she exclaimed warmly, flushing prettily 
 under his praise, sculling towards them, jumping lightly 
 on the rocks and stretching her arms above her head, 
 before she threw herself carelessly on the sand behind 
 Hamor. 
 
 The priest looked down upon her with pained sur 
 prise. " You care so much for it so much ? " 
 
 " Oh, I love it so as if it were a living, breathing 
 thing, I tell you. It is monsieur s best picture. I 
 am helping him make it. No one else could help him 
 as much as I do." 
 
 Thymert turned abruptly. 
 
 " Take care, monsieur le cure! Ah," she cried re 
 proachfully, "your soutane has brushed against it 
 where it was still wet." 
 
 "It s of absolutely no importance," said Hamor as 
 the priest apologized. " Guenn is a dragon where this 
 particular canvas is concerned. She thinks that I take 
 liberties with it. I am inclined to believe she is proud 
 to travel off to Paris and show them how a little Bre- 
 tonne can scull. Eh, Guenn?" 
 
 "No, monsieur," she said softly, smiling with much 
 gentleness and drooping her long lashes. It seemed 
 to the priest that there had been more than once of late 
 a certain sadness in her smile, a look he had never be-
 
 336 GUENN. 
 
 fore seen in her careless happy face. It made his heart 
 ache strangely. It gave him a sudden feeling of rage. 
 But in an instant she was laughing in unrestrained 
 mirth, like her free, glad self, and looking up from her 
 resting-place in the sand, very mischievous, and per 
 fectly at ease with both men. "Those people," she 
 said with pretty contempt, "those people with the 
 bunch-ups and the little windows on their 63*03, now 
 what do they know about sculling?" 
 
 " Some of them know a little," Hamor answered. 
 " Some are less heathen than others. Don t be severe 
 upon them, Guenn." 
 
 "Well, they won t know that I am the only girl in 
 Plouvenec that can handle that big oar," she announced 
 arrogantly. 
 
 Hamor always found her boastfulness delicious. 
 
 "If not quite that," he said meekly, "I shall at 
 least try to make it clear that the oar is very large and 
 that 3 ou are very small, and that nobod} 7 could possibly 
 handle it better." 
 
 " Good," said Guenn, nodding and smiling. The 
 cure stood looking at the painting, the young girl, the 
 busy artist, the sea. He was restless and awkward, out 
 of place. No one could be more at home than Guenn. 
 It was her special gift and grace always to seem to be 
 long where she found herself. Lying on a moss}* bank, 
 curled up knitting on the rocks, flying through the 
 chemins creux, with her hands placed aggressively on 
 her hips, mocking Mother Nives at the river, or as 
 now, reclining easily in a hollow in the sands, it 
 would have been difficult to suggest an attitude more 
 in harmony with her surroundings. 
 
 " I was about to say, monsieur le cure," Hamor began 
 with amiable loquacity, " that people are continually
 
 GUENN. 337 
 
 wandering in the dark, not only in a hopeless attempt to 
 find our pictures, but ourselves. The}* don t under 
 stand painters, 3-011 know," he remarked with a charm 
 ingly confidential and explanatory smile. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Thymert, fixing his eyes upon Guenn, 
 and running his hand nervously through his hair. 
 
 " I assure } ou, no," Hamor s manner grew imper 
 ceptibly didactic, but the smile which he gave the dark- 
 robod, dark-faced man beside him was genial and kind, 
 "upon my woi d. Now how do they represent us? 
 As suffering, isolated geniuses, towering above our 
 fellow-creatures ; as rascals and profligates ; as some 
 thing between a schoolgirl s hero and a man-milliner. 
 But do you find in general any conception, in books or 
 in life, of us as we for the most part are, as you have 
 seen us down here, for instance, men, don t you 
 know, actual men, working hard, with a clearly defined 
 object, men like other men, monsieur le cure, as ear 
 nest and simple as your fishermen ; where do you find 
 us, I ask you? " 
 
 Guenn had raised herself on one elbow, and with 
 parted lips and an entranced expression was listening 
 to Hamor s harangue, to its music rather than to its 
 substance. 
 
 ; I am sure I don t know, monsieur," answered the 
 sailor-priest s deep bass, somewhat roughly. 
 
 " One becomes disgusted, I may well say nauseated," 
 continued Hamor, in smiling obliviousness of the cure s 
 mood, intent upon the picture, yet sailing along agree 
 ably on his broad stream of fluent talk, " with the 
 world s idea of the artist, be he a Pariah through want 
 of principle, or a sublimated, etherealized shadow of 
 a man. The world does not understand the artist- 
 temperament, yet it is continually harping upon it. 
 
 22
 
 338 GUENN. 
 
 It is supposed to lead to much harm. Does it ever 
 occur to the croakers to consider that the artist does 
 positive good to the world? whereas his faults and frail 
 ties are by no means his alone, but are shared by other 
 men who do no good at all. Now if you tell me that 
 Goethe was He stepped back, scowled a little at 
 his work, half closing his eyes, and forgot to resume his 
 oration. " Posez, Guenn." 
 
 With a light bound the girl sprang down the rocks. 
 
 " Row her out a few strokes." 
 
 She obeyed. 
 
 "Advance the right leg a little more. Waist well 
 back." 
 
 Thymert with great strides was already ascending the 
 bank. On his face was a dark flush, as if caused by 
 violent bodily exertion. 
 
 " Are you going, monsieur le cure?" Ilamor called 
 in a friendly tone. " He does not hear, he is absorbed 
 in his own thoughts. What do our pett} T conven 
 tionalities matter, after all?" he thought admiringly. 
 u This man is above them." 
 
 Thymert was standing among the coarse grass and 
 crosses, but for once he had no thought of his drowned 
 sailors. His eyes were full of rage ; his strong hands 
 were clenched. His head was erect and turned nearly 
 profile to the painter. The wind stirred the long hair 
 on his shoulders. "O my God!" moaned the 3 oung 
 priest. 
 
 " I can t resist that," Hamor said to himself; " It s 
 that superb pose. Wait, Guenn, rest ; " and the strong 
 man in his pain was ably transferred to the sketch 
 book. 
 
 " Monsieur le cure*," called the painter suddenby, in 
 a laughing, deprecating voice, " what would 3*011 say if
 
 GUENN. 339 
 
 I should be bold enough to ask you to pose for me ? 
 Since I m here on the spot, it would not seem presum 
 ing, would it? You feel, I hope, that it is quite the 
 natural thing for me to do ? " His admiration for the 
 cure was profound, and the modesty and somewhat 
 youthful hesitation of his manner were sincere expo 
 nents of his desire in no way to wound Thymert s 
 pride. 
 
 Hamor smiling, waiting for his answer did not 
 look up from his work. The priest threw back his noble 
 head, gazed up to the zenith, then closed his eyes an 
 instant. The anger passed from his face, and some 
 thing sombre settled there, not resignation alone, not 
 hopelessness, but perhaps both, with a dreary and 
 desolate courage. 
 
 "Monsieur le cure, why don t }*ou answer Monsieur 
 Hamor?" Guenn called with evident discontent. 
 
 " Pray don t disturb him," Hamor said quickly, in a 
 low tone ; " be more considerate. A man like Tlrymert 
 has much to think of." 
 
 " Well, he might answer a civil question," she per 
 sisted, making a perverse little mono ; "he isn t deaf. 
 And when } T OU speak, monsieur," she said, with charm 
 ing naivete, "it is so eas}~ to hear. It is a voice one 
 must hear," she repeated emphatically. " Wh} , one 
 hears it, when all the sailors on the common are shouting 
 themselves hoarse." 
 
 But Thymert had at least heard the summons of her 
 young voice, that always reminded him of crystal-clear 
 water with little ripples in it, and was obeying. 
 
 "Pardon, monsieur; I was occupied with my own 
 thoughts." He took off his hat and passed his hand 
 across his brow abruptly. Hamor politely waited. 
 
 " He wants you to pose, you know." Guenn spoke
 
 340 GUENN. 
 
 with much impatience, failing to recognize the smallest 
 reason for dela} T . 
 
 " I should consider it a great honor and privilege to 
 be allowed to paint }-ou, monsieur le cure," Hamor 
 said very courteously ; then, with a flash of enthusiasm 
 lighting his whole face: "1 have been hoping, wait 
 ing, longing for the opportunity ever since I saw you 
 that first night ; I have indeed." 
 
 " Well? " demanded Guenn, surprised and somewhat 
 irritated. 
 
 " I don t think I am exactl}* the kind of person one 
 paints," said the priest slowly. He looked down with 
 irony upon his worn soutane, wondering whether it were 
 possible that he too had what the men at breakfast that 
 day had called lines. Moreover, he felt a horror of 
 the whole paraphernalia of this amiable, irreproachable 
 3 r oung man, against whom he could not in words make 
 one reasonable complaint. A moment before, he was 
 conscious of hating the stranger. He had had a furi 
 ous desire to throw him and his belongings off the rocks. 
 ; God forgive me if there be murder in my soul!" 
 he had prayed in the little grave3 ard. As for being im 
 prisoned on this man s canvas, it would be better to be 
 caged outright, never again take one free step, never 
 again feel the sunlight on one s cheek, the sea-winds 
 lifting one s hair ! 
 
 " I can hardly explain to you what an unusually 
 important stud} r I find 3 ou," Hamor said seriously. 
 
 The priest stared at him with utter want of compre 
 hension and sympathy ; then answered coldly : "I 
 should not like it, I have not the patience." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Guenn indignantly. 
 
 Both men looked at her. She had forgotten to pose, 
 was frowning at the cure and flushing with vexation.
 
 GUENN. 341 
 
 " But it is unkind, monsieur le recteur ! " she began 
 vehemently. " It is such a little thing to do. Bah, it 
 does not hurt, and monsieur wishes it. It is not like 
 you to refuse." 
 
 Thymert looked at her without speaking. She soft 
 ened under his sad gaze. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur le cure, 3*011 will do it if I beg? 
 Monsieur would be so pleased ; monsieur only cares to 
 paint you and me." She was pleading very sweetly 
 now. " Monsieur wishes it so very much." 
 
 " Don t insist, Guenn. Monsieur le cure must decide 
 for himself," Hamor interposed, gently. " Of course, if 
 it would not be agreeable, there is nothing more to be 
 said." 
 
 But Guenn went on in her rapid, eager way : il And 
 while monsieur is here it would be so simple. It would 
 scarcely disturb you at all. And monsieur is kind 
 enough to make the beautiful picture for the chapel, 
 and 3 - ou see how much he cares to paint }"ou. And 
 wh}- should you not, indeed, if he wishes it? He 
 has me. Why may he not have you? He only wants 
 us two. Surely, surely 3-011 will consent." 
 
 " Guenn, Guenn ! " Hamor interrupted her with a 
 pleasant laugh. 
 
 " He only wants us two," moved the cure strangely. 
 
 " He is going to say yes," cried Guenn, smiling and 
 clasping her hands eagerly. . 
 
 Thymert stepped nearer the picture. " If you would 
 put me in that boat," he suggested, with the simplicity 
 of a child. Yes, it would surely be more fitting. How 
 wrong of him not to have thought of it before ! If a 
 Breton, and one of her own race too, should go off with 
 the little girl to Paris, then, if the strange men and 
 women did stare curiously at her lovely, glowing face,
 
 342 GUENN. 
 
 and watch her swing the heavy oar, and make their 
 bold and hateful comments, at least she would not 
 stand there unprotected and alone before them all. 
 
 " We will see," said Hamor, restraining a smile. " I 
 can tell better later, after I have made a study of 
 you* Indeed, I feel immensely grateful to you, and I 
 really shall not trouble you much ; I could n t presume, 
 monsieur le cure. A short sitting, two or three days, 
 will give me all that is necessary for what I have in my 
 mind. To speak plainly, I have lately been thinking of 
 you more especially as John the Baptist. There are 
 several others, indeed " he contemplated the dark and 
 powerful man with his appreciative artist vision, "yet 
 the voice of one crying in the wilderness hm hm " 
 His words died away in an unintelligible murmur, while 
 his delighted eyes feasted on the cure s face and form, 
 and his fancy revelled in myriads of compositions. 
 
 Thy mert but half heard him. He loathed the whole 
 scheme. But if the painter, as Guenn said, had her, he 
 might have him. Guenn wished it. That was reason 
 enough. 
 
 Was John the Baptist like us Bretons ? " asked the 
 young girl curiously. 
 
 "He had some Breton traits," replied the cure 
 dryl}- ; at which Hamor laughed, and Thymert himself 
 faintly smiled. It gave him unhoped-for comfort, to 
 hear the familiar " us Bretons " from Guenn s lips again. 
 The tall easel, planted aggressively there on his free 
 island, seemed for the moment less obnoxious. 
 
 "Now 3 r ou are smiling, now you are } T our kind 
 self," Guenn exclaimed audaciously. " Now I am 
 glad. Of course you will do as monsieur wishes." 
 
 "I must go over to the Cigogne," said the priest 
 abrupt!} . u Old Jean is worse."
 
 GUENN. 
 
 343 
 
 "You will find us still at it when you come back," 
 Hamor answered brightly. 
 
 " Brigitte is there, if you want anything," added the 
 priest. 
 
 " Monsieur le cure," Guenn looked at him as he 
 stepped into his own boat ; something in his face dis 
 turbed her, " was I cross? I am sorry," she said, 
 with not much penitence, but with a very charming 
 little laugh, and kind, honest eyes. 
 
 " No, you were not cross ; }*ou were only troubled." 
 
 "Well, I hurt you," she persisted. "You looked 
 so," setting her lips firmly, in merry imitation of the 
 priest. 
 
 " You could not hurt me, child," he exclaimed with 
 noble warmth. " You could never hurt me, Guenn ; you 
 could not if you should try." He rowed past her, with 
 a smile of tenderest indulgence greeting her beneath his 
 mournful eyes. 
 
 " Well, you are good," she retorted careless!}*, watch 
 ing Hamor closety and waiting for his signal; "you 
 are an angel." 
 
 " Posez, Guenn ! " said the painter.
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 UENN was thoroughly happy. 
 This last experience was full 
 of special attractiveness. To 
 sail over to the Lannions 
 every morning was in itself 
 a delight to the girl, but 
 there was something glori 
 ous in being taken over by 
 Meurice as monsieur s indis 
 pensable model. She would 
 have liked to staj" nights, as 
 monsieur did, instead of being sent home every evening ; 
 but madaine of the Voyageurs, who so rarely interfered 
 in other people s affairs, simply did interfere on this 
 occasion, and neither she nor anybody else need say 
 the contrar} r , Guenn reflected, with a frown. It was all 
 arranged : she was to stay four daj^s, and old Brigitte 
 could look after her, monsieur said ; although this 
 seemed to Guenn a curious idea, as she felt herself 
 much more capable of looking after old Brigitte. Jt 
 was a pit3 r Nannie would not and Jeanne could not 
 go. Monsieur had not written to Thymert, but had 
 merely said one day, in his bright, sudden wa} T , that 
 they would sail over the next morning, and trust to 
 luck ; indeed there was scarcely a chance of luck s
 
 GUENN. 345 
 
 being against them. Guenn had come late to the Voy- 
 ageurs, to tell monsieur that she had seen Meurice and 
 arranged everything ; it was then that madame her 
 self rose up and positively interfered, insisting that 
 Guenn was to be brought back to Plouvenec every 
 evening. 
 
 " But will it not be almost impossible for her to come 
 over early enough mornings, madame? " suggested Ha- 
 mor doubtfully. " That is all that is important. The 
 days are short ; I must have the morning light." 
 
 "Oh no ! not impossible," Guenn cried eager!} 7 , " but 
 only stupid, since you prefer me to stay there," with 
 a resentful glance at madame. 
 
 " It is cold at the Lannions," madame said quickly. 
 
 "As if I care! " 
 
 " There are other things that are important." 
 
 " Bah ! " said Guenn. 
 
 "It is altogether inconvenient," persisted madame; 
 " I am sure Monsieur Hamor agrees with me." 
 
 After five minutes private and very amicable conver 
 sation Monsieur Hamor did agree with her. " Of 
 course I want her as earl} 7 as I can paint." 
 
 " She shall be punctual, monsieur." 
 
 " You see, the cure being there, and old Brigitte, 
 and and as it is Guenn Rodellec ; and as I am I 
 well, upon my word, madame, I did not trouble my 
 head about the proprieties," he acknowledged with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, monsieur," suavely, " but it 
 is better that Meurice takt,^ ner home early in the even 
 ing. She will enjoy that ; our girls like to sail, and 
 they sail less than one would expect. It is curious, is 
 it not, how little our girls on the coast sail? " 
 
 Hamor admitted that it was very curious indeed ; and
 
 34G GUENN. 
 
 Guenn, much against her will, was obliged to submit to 
 the inevitable. But afterwards she did not regret mad- 
 ame s interference. 
 
 This voyage of honor and triumph stimulated her 
 pride. He was waiting for her : she was necessar} to 
 him. Sailing to him in state was quite different from hur 
 rying through the familiar Plouvenec streets, and waiting 
 under the arch until monsieur came along with his keys 
 to open the studio. She had never heard of Cleopatra 
 going to meet Mark Antony, of royal barge wreathed 
 with garlands and shaded by silken awnings held aloft 
 by rosy cupids ; but her radiant loveliness, her exulta 
 tion, was equal to that of any woman who ever lived 
 and loved ; and as she plunged through the white-capped 
 waves to him, with joy in her eyes and laughter on 
 her lips, the rough winds crimsoning her cheeks, she 
 queened it with pretty tyranny over Meurice and his 
 crew, captivating them completely with her beauty and 
 innocent lawlessness, until every man of them was in 
 honest subjection to this imperious little being, with her 
 sweet voice and fearless eyes. In the freshness of the 
 mornings they left her, buoyant and rosy, on the outer 
 rocks of the Lannions, where Ilamor and the priest 
 came to help her ashore. How proudly her heart beat 
 as she saw the two tall figures, the painter in his browns, 
 the priest in his old soutane, waiting to receive her ! 
 In the early winter twilight they brought her again to 
 the boat, that called for her, returning from the day s 
 fishing. Then she would quicklj* curl herself up on a coil 
 of rope, and the sailors thou 5 ht she was tired or asleep, 
 and Meurice always covered the quiet little figure with 
 a blanket, even, when it grew cold, with his own 
 coat ; and the rough men tried to wake her softly 
 when the boat ran up to the Plouvenec landing. But
 
 GUENN. 347 
 
 she was not asleep. Living over in memory ever} mo 
 ment of the da} T , not dreamily, yet jealously exclud 
 ing, in her serious passion, all other sights and sounds ; 
 counting her golden treasure of words and glances ; 
 asking herself pitilessly if she had given her best strength 
 to the work which he required of her, if the great pic 
 ture could be satisfied with her this day ; her imagina 
 tion richly painting the happy morrow, she sailed 
 back under the stars to Plouvenec. And the love of 
 the rough little girl, lying carelessly in the old fishing- 
 smack among rude men, was a lofty love, breathing 
 self-sacrifice, courage, and high sentiment, leading her 
 to shape her life bravely day by da} , not for the reward 
 of love s softness and endearments, but struggling 
 against the uncomprehended longing of her heart. 
 Working for a cause, living for an idea, she offered 
 her soul in pure homage before Hamor and his aims. 
 
 So the days went by, six clays instead of four, and 
 every evening she was transformed into a silent little 
 being, whom they made comfortable as best they could, 
 and sheltered from the winds with awkward tenderness. 
 When the seventh morning came, and no little figure was 
 before them on the wharf, no rosy eager face looked 
 frankly at them, no girl s voice in sweet impatience 
 ordered them about, found fault with their slowness, 
 ridiculed their clumsiness, then smiled and graciously 
 forgave them, they were sony, and wished the 
 people at the Lannions had needed Guenn Rodellec 
 longer. 
 
 It was a week of most satisfactory weather, and re 
 sults to Hamor, not too sunny, not too cold, replete 
 with novelty and charm. Guenn regained in full force 
 the qualities which now and then seemed to be fading, 
 why it was impossible for him to say, under the indis-
 
 348 GUENN. 
 
 putably improving influences of the atelier life. A little 
 fierce, a little wild she should be, for his purposes. At 
 the same time, a certain docility among the models was 
 certain!} agreeable. Guenn had been obedient, sweet- 
 tempered, helpful as possible, since he had had the tact 
 to interest her in the picture, and more spirited as a 
 model than any other mortal could hope to be. Still, 
 she was a peculiar being, and must be measured only 
 with herself. A certain something he missed now and 
 then. Was it freshness, grace, daring? She surely 
 had enough, he reflected. Still, before, in her state of 
 utter lawlessness, she had had a fascinating and delicious 
 too-much of these qualities. Great then was his joy 
 and thankfulness, to see her arriving morning after 
 morning at the Lannions in the perfect condition he 
 desired, ros}*, buoyant, free, and fearless, strongly in 
 clined to domineer, and with the bewitching excess of 
 wild animal spirits, of which he disapproved in his daily 
 intercourse with her, but which immeasurably enhanced 
 her picturesqueness and artistic worth. " It is like the 
 perfume of a flower, the bloom of a peach. I must 
 make it mine while I can." He experienced a deep 
 sense of gratitude to the powers that controlled his 
 destin} 7 , that they had, at precisely this time, produced 
 in Guenn Rodellec s lovely little person all the effects 
 he most needed to complete his important picture. 
 
 " I am a singularly fortunate man," he said one 
 evening to the priest. " I almost always have what I 
 wish. It is no merit of course, but it is a fact never 
 theless. I am lucky. To be sure, my desires are not 
 very extravagant," he added, laughing pleasantly. 
 " Beyond my painting, I have none. Now the first 
 night I was in Plouvenec I saw you and Guenn, each 
 in a singularly vivid, striking way. I resolved to paint
 
 GUENN. 349 
 
 you. I have painted 3*011. Does n t it seem as if I 
 were lucky beyond my deserts ? " 
 
 To this, as to many cheerful statements on the part 
 of his guest, Thymert listened without replying, merely 
 turning his dark eyes in a slow questioning way upon 
 the animated face opposite him. 
 
 "Are you trying to penetrate the recesses of my 
 nature?" Hamor asked him. "Because believe me, 
 monsieur le cure, I have no recesses. No man was 
 ever so shallow as I." 
 
 Tin-inert made a deprecating gesture and said sim 
 ply : "Pardon, monsieur, I sometimes lose myself in 
 my thoughts. It is a bad habit." 
 
 Ilamor found him as a companion more gloomy and 
 fitful than he had anticipated. Remembering the large 
 warmth of the priest s manner that pleasant morning 
 at breakfist, his graciousness and even his gayety, the 
 gravity of his bearing in these latter days impressed the 
 painter singularly. Still he found it in strict harmony 
 with the desolate islands and the melancholy sound of 
 the eternal surges. Beautiful as was Thymert s smile, 
 flashing over the dark and ardent face, there was more 
 grandeur in his sombre earnestness. He was emphati 
 cally a heroic figure, and as such Ilamor painted him 
 with fine selection ; remaining on the Loch two days 
 after he had dispensed with Guenn s services there, in 
 order to do as much with the cure* in so short a time 
 as the cure s evident impatience would permit. The 
 painter felt too considerate and too courteous to insist 
 upon staying long enough to make a finished picture ; 
 but, thanks to Guenn s intercession, he could at least 
 provide himself with a couple of valuable studies of 
 this rare type. 
 
 Nights, after Guenn was gone, the simple kindness
 
 350 GUENN. 
 
 of the priest s nature asserted itself. The two young 
 men would often chat late, the painter, it is true, being 
 the chief speaker, the priest listening with interest. In 
 talking with this man, whose own life knew unnumbered 
 hardships and perils, Hamor related his rough "Western 
 experiences amiably and modestly. There was much 
 in them which Thymert cared to hear. He would often 
 be roused to expressions of keen sympathy, enthusiasm, 
 admiration. Then, quieting, the slow inscrutable inquiry 
 would creep into his eyes, and he would become moody 
 and restless. Sometimes he would display an extraor 
 dinary interest in painting, asking the most minute 
 questions, as if striving to reach the soul of the matter. 
 At other times, when Hamor was idly chatting, he 
 would rise abruptly, fling his hair back witli impatience, 
 and -muttering a half-apology, or none at all would 
 rush out of the dimly lighted room in the corner of the 
 chapel, and pace his island in uncontrollable agitation. 
 The chapel on the Loch never turned away a guest, 
 living or dead ; but its priest s generous heart was sorely 
 tortured by this constant intercourse with the amiable 
 painter, whom he sought in vain to comprehend. Thy 
 mert felt that his soul was adrift, rudderless, in a stormy 
 sea, under black heavens. He understood neither him 
 self nor his surroundings. He could specify no danger, 
 no wrong ; yet the nameless forebodings which had 
 haunted him for months grew each day more intense. 
 He trembled for little Guenn, who was nevertheless 
 happy and safe. He dreaded and feared the painter, 
 he hated him at times ; } et who was so sunny and harm 
 less as Monsieur Hamor? Already every man on the 
 islands swore by him, and he was as glad to do a fel 
 low-creature a kindness as Louis Morot himself. Noth 
 ing was too rough for him, nothing daunted him. He
 
 GUENN. 351 
 
 was a brave, simple gars, with his heart in the right 
 place, and the making of a gallant sailor. The cure s 
 simple sense of justice forced him again and again to 
 this conclusion. Yet when the painter put up that easel, 
 with its hideous spider-legs, Thymert shuddered as if he 
 saw some cruel, blood-sucking animal reaching after its 
 prey, and turned awaj- with a suffocating flood of hot 
 and helpless resentment surging in his heart, a mighty 
 savage impulse to destroy and kill. His instincts 
 warned him, and made him wretched ; but his perplexed 
 and contradictor} reasonings were powerless to explain 
 to him his fears. To his simple and positive mind, 
 this, in itself, was misery. 
 
 But whether he sat silent and sad in his stud} , or 
 gazed with uncomplaining, painful effort, into Hamor s 
 unreachable soul, or drew himself up superbly in his 
 threadbare soutane and rushed out into the night, 
 whether he was solicitous in his hospitalit} , or gave 
 shortjanswers, and impatient movements, Hamor was 
 always his enthusiastic and indefatigable admirer. The 
 priest could not swing his powerful shoulders, but Ha 
 mor rejoiced and congratulated himself. Thymert s dark 
 figure on the rocks impressed itself indelibly on Hamor s 
 memory. Thymert could not frown without giving the 
 painter exquisite pleasure ; and the priest s simplest 
 action was apt to suggest to him a memorable and pas 
 sionate moment in the life of some world-famed hero. 
 Hamor regarded his week at the islands as one of the 
 most charming and fruitful episodes of his life. 
 
 One strange night rendered him more than ever im 
 pressed with the extraordinary power and magnetism of 
 the priest, whom he regarded, in all sincerity, as the 
 most profoundl} interesting man he had known. 
 
 It was Saturda} . Harnor had declared himself satis-
 
 352 GUENN 
 
 fied with the important points of his week s work ; 
 what remained, he could finish in the studio, he said. 
 Guenn was happ} T in his praise, unspeakably sony to 
 leave the islands, completely under his magical influence. 
 The night fell stormily, and Metirice did not come. 
 Guenn felt in every fibre the rise of the storm, the omi 
 nous sweep of the angry winds, the threatening roar of 
 the ocean. Her blue eyes grew black with excitement. 
 Hamor anticipated an enjoyable experience ; but Th}*- 
 mert, with an anxious look, said, " Guenn, Meurice 
 cannot get in." 
 
 " Meme chose," she replied. 
 
 " But you will have to stay here to-night," discon 
 tentedly. 
 
 " Why not? I always wanted to sleep here. Surely 
 you can find a place for such a little thing, monsieur le 
 recteur," she said, with a charming mixture of appeal 
 ing smiles and peremptorincss. " At all events, if 
 Meurice does not come, it is evident I am here, whether 
 3 ou want me or not," she added. "You cannot help 
 j-ourself. Boom ! How the waves strike ! " 
 
 "Old Jean is worse," remarked Thymcrt after a 
 moment. 
 
 " But it s as much as }*our life is worth to cross to 
 the Cigogne," said Guenn. 
 
 The priest shrugged his shoulders. " I shall cross 
 all the same," he rejoined. 
 
 " Does he suffer?" asked the young girl. 
 
 " He finds no rest. He has swung his right arm in 
 the air the whole week slowl} , like a pendulum. He 
 is very wear}-. His wife tries to hold the poor arm. 
 Rest, my poor Jean, rest, she whispers. I cannot, 
 says Jean ; I am a clock tic-tac, tic-tac. " 
 
 " How very curious ! " exclaimed Hamor.
 
 GUENN. 353 
 
 "Curious, monsieur ?" returned the priest, with an 
 impatient gesture and a sensitive flush. "What is 
 curious ? It is life. Jean was a clockmaker s son at 
 Brest. He ran away to sea. He is dying. His child 
 hood comes back to the old man. I see nothing curious 
 in that, monsieur." Thymert rose, and measured the 
 little room in two strides. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Hamor gently. 
 
 " If you go over to Jean, I shall go," Guenn asserted 
 emphatically. 
 
 "It is too rough for a girl," the priest declared 
 quickly. 
 
 "When was I afraid?" she demanded, springing up 
 and standing by his side. " I shall go with you, I say." 
 
 " Ah, Guenn ! " he answered, with a long look and a 
 sigh. 
 
 " May I go too? " asked Hamor. 
 
 " What do 3~ou care about it? " The priest faced his 
 guest almost rudely. " Wiry should } ou go? What is 
 old Jean to 3*011 ? " 
 
 Hamor hesitated. Thymert s eyes were like pent-up, 
 smouldering fires. Then the painter said quietly, his 
 face expressing the gentlest sympathy and deference, 
 " I could at least help you with the boat, monsieur le 
 recteur." 
 
 The sweetness of his temper seemed perfect to Guenn. 
 " Yes, he can help us with the boat," she said, still 
 standing by Thymert, grave and womanly, ready to go 
 with him through the storm to his d3*ing fisherman. 
 How good and brave she was, little Guenn ! What 
 subtle comfort to his weaiy soul lay in this one act of 
 hers ! 
 
 The cure s tension relaxed. " Come then, mon 
 sieur, if 3 ou like," he said slowl3 T ; "and pardon my 
 
 23
 
 354 GUENN. 
 
 impatient wa}*s," he added regretfully. " I have many 
 cares." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur le cure!" Hamor took his hand 
 with warmth. 
 
 "How like an angel he looks!" thought Guenn, 
 " how beautiful his smile is ! and Thymert was hasty ; 
 he is often hasty with monsieur." 
 
 A silence fell upon the three. Great gusts of wind 
 went sweeping down the long passages under the eaves, 
 rattling the ladders, ropes and oars, and ending in 
 a strange wailing sound. Little Erec sprang up from 
 his sleep, and old Brigitte rushed in with a frightened 
 face. 
 
 La brouelte de la Mort!" she cried, crossing herself. 
 
 Thymert and Guenn crossed themselves also. The 
 cure opened the door, letting in a fierce blast of wind 
 that filled the whole chapel, and shook the banners of 
 Our Lady and the vestments in the sacrist}*. On the 
 porch he stood and looked anxiously over to the Ci- 
 gogne. " Not yet, not }*et," he murmured, returning 
 to the others. 
 
 The three sat waiting for the summons. Guenn s 
 young face soft, tender, and solemn. Hamor too was 
 gentle and solicitous, as he sat silently by the table, 
 watching Guenn knitting steadily, and the pretty effect 
 of her coiffe in the candlelight. He had never seen her 
 so charming, in the fine and womanly sense, as she 
 was to-night. Odd, too, that she should be so quiet 
 and thoughtful, sitting at this very table where he and 
 the other men had talked of her beaut}* and wildness. 
 Hamor was extremely sorry for the cure, who evi 
 dently was taking the loss of his old fisherman sorely 
 to heart. 
 
 Thymert came in and out, his face quiet now, but
 
 GUENN. 355 
 
 with the trouble still in his e} r es. He glanced often at 
 Guenn, and seemed to find comfort in seeing her there ; 
 while she listened to the shrieking winds and the in 
 cessant roar of the waves, and thought of ships in 
 peril, and heard death-calls, and wondered if Nannie 
 was asleep, and remembered how old Jean looked the 
 last time she had seen him, and felt pit^y and awe for 
 the soul about to pass away, and wished Thymert would 
 not be quite so sorrowful, and longed with a good will 
 to help him ; yet all the time there was deep happiness 
 in her heart, for monsieur was looking at her kindl} . 
 He was pleased with her, the great picture had gone 
 well ; and stronger than the excitement, than her sympa 
 thy and generous affection for Thymert, and her many 
 pitying thoughts, was the sweet sense of the painter s 
 presence. 
 
 Thymert stood constantly at the porch now, the 
 storm beating in his face. " My poor old Jean," he 
 murmured often, " I know } T ou are going to-night. 
 They are wrong if they think you can last till to-morrow. 
 I shall come to 3*ou, whether I see the signal or not." 
 
 Suddenly, beyond the near impenetrable darkness 
 and the mighty waves, far up into the black heavens 
 shot a fieiy flash. 
 
 Thymert returned to the room where the two sat 
 waiting. " They have called me," he said; " they 
 have sent up the rocket from the fort." He laid his 
 hand on Guenn s head, as if to protect or bless her. 
 His face was perfectly calm, now that the dying man 
 needed him. "Must you come, my child?" he said. 
 " It is a terrible night." 
 
 " Yes," Guenn answered resolutely, rising and pin 
 ning a shawl over her head. 
 
 " Come, then, both of 3 ou," returned the priest.
 
 356 GUENN. 
 
 Again the winds swept along the eaves, and the 
 strange rattle and wail sounded high in the air. "La 
 brouette ! " whispered Guenn, raising her eyes and 
 crossing herself. 
 
 "It is time," said the priest, and went to the sac 
 risty. Having secured in his breast the precious case 
 containing the viaticum, he hastily wrapped his stole 
 in tarpaulin, thrust it into an inner pocket, seized 
 a lantern from Brigitte and led the way down to his 
 boats. " Hold the lantern," he said to Guenn ; to 
 Hamor, " Help me turn her over." 
 
 The boat was under cover, yet nearly full of water. 
 It was a species of life-boat, which Thymert used when 
 no sail could live. The two men took the oars ; Guenn, 
 her lantern hung on her arm, the tiller. The start 
 seemed an impossibility. Again and again the} 7 were 
 washed back upon the Loch, almost to the one dimly 
 lighted window of the chapel. 
 
 Another rocket went up from the Cigogne fort. 
 Thymert bowed his head in brief prayer to Our Lady 
 of the Isles ; then threw it back grandly, set his mouth 
 in sternness, and exclaimed with a kind of strange hea 
 then intimac} with the angry powers of nature : " And 
 you think then, you will keep me from him his cure* 
 from a dying man ? Are you angry that you did not get 
 him? Are you seeking him still? Truly, poor Jean 
 would have wished to die at sea, and not in his bed. 
 But Our Lady willed otherwise. Que voulez-vous? Let 
 me go on, I say ! " 
 
 Hamor heard him with a thrill of delight. The prim 
 itive nature of the strong man seemed to be asserting 
 itself under excitement ; he chided, defied, and sought 
 to pacify the waves, as if they were angry friends clam 
 oring around him.
 
 GUENN. 357 
 
 The boat breasted those first opposing breakers, 
 and reached a safer current between two islands. 
 It was a hard pull ; but the two men were powerful, 
 and Tlrymert knew his waters as a farmer knows his 
 field-paths. Arriving at the Cigogne they met with 
 great difficulties in landing, but were finally run vio 
 lently up on the sands, where half-a-dozen men with 
 lanterns caught and held the boat before the next wave 
 could wash her back. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur le recteur, thank God that you are 
 here. He is going fast," announced one of the sailors. 
 
 " Is his poor arm still? " asked Guenn pitifully. 
 
 "Yes, he cannot raise it; but his hand lies on his 
 breast, and his forefinger makes the tic-tac, tic-tac 
 feebly. lie thinks he s a clock. He s running down 
 fast, brave old Jean ! " 
 
 The rude little house was full of people, and Jean s 
 friends crowded about the door. His dog was howling 
 incessantly. 
 
 Thymert stooped and entered the small doorway. 
 With a silent greeting to the family he went to the 
 bedside of the d} ing man, looked at his face, felt his 
 pulse. " Do you know me, Jean? " 
 
 Jean opened his glazed eyes. "Yes, I know }*ou. 
 Tic-tac," he whispered, feebly moving his finger. 
 
 The priest motioned the family to leave the room, 
 and, leaning over the old man s pillow, heard his whis 
 pered last confession, tenderly aiding the feeble memory 
 and faltering voice ; while the storm howied fiercely, 
 and ever} listening ear heard the rolling and rattling 
 brouette de la Mort, driven by skeletons, circling round 
 the island in the tempest, and waiting for the soul of 
 the dying man. Briefly the priest performed the last 
 rites of the Church, taking from the little casket on his
 
 358 GUENN. 
 
 breast the holy oil and the blessed sacrament. The 
 others had stolen back into the room. Ilamor stood 
 with some men in the doorway, watching Tlrymert as 
 he leaned like a pitying angel over old Jean, but with 
 a power of human sympathy and suffering, brooding 
 in his passionate eyes, such as no angel could ever 
 have. The candles flickered. Jean s dog howled cease 
 lessly. His old wife and the other women wept and 
 wailed aloud. Strange shadows flickered about the 
 dusky little room, reaching up to the rudely carved 
 ship on the wall, and the two large shells Jean had 
 brought home from the Indies fifty years ago. 
 
 " If I could save you, my poor old Jean, if I could 
 give you nry youth and strength ! " and Thymert yearned 
 over the departing spirit. He loved every man of 
 them, would have given his life to save any life on his 
 islands. But he was helpless here. He too heard the 
 brouette sweeping through the angry heavens, above 
 the fisherman s hut. 
 
 Jean opened his eyes with a faint glance of troubled 
 intelligence. Thymert bent lower. " At sea," mur 
 mured the dying lips of the old sailor. 
 
 " He would rather die at sea, not in this cage. Who 
 would not indeed ? " thought the priest. But they 
 have come for you in a storm," he said distinctly, 
 " the storm, the storm, Jean ! " 
 
 A wild gust shook the house. One instant Jean 
 seemed to listen, to hear its message from the free life 
 of long-ago, to find some comfort in the thought that 
 the storm had come to seek him ; then all recognition 
 faded out of his weather-beaten face. The weary 
 finger began its feeble tic-tac, but the lips never 
 spoke again. Thymert pityingly took in his own warm 
 grasp the poor, hard-working hand, working its way
 
 GUENN. 359 
 
 even into the world be} ond, felt its fluttering pulse, 
 laid it tender!}- on the old man s breast. " Rest, broth 
 er," he whispered. The hand was still at last. Time 
 had ceased for old Jean. 
 
 Guenn was standing against the wall, controlling 
 herself stiffly, feeling as if her heart would break. The 
 light fell on Ilamor s face in the doorway ; but even that 
 could not help her grief for the old fisherman, her re 
 bellion against the nr^stery of suffering and death. 
 " Why need it be so?" thought the young girl. 
 " And if he is going to be happ} r in heaven, still, why 
 need it be like this here ? " 
 
 Thymert s eyes sought hers. Guenn stepped forward. 
 " Did 3 ou ever before see a man die? " he said, softly. 
 
 " No," she answered, with a shudder. Jean s uncon 
 scious breath was laboring still. 
 
 " But one must see this too," he said, solemnly. His 
 loving, pitying soul shone out and illumined his dark 
 face. He looked about the fisherman s home with un 
 speakable affection, 3*earning to save his poor folk from 
 sorrow and pain. There was a grandeur in his pres 
 ence, a loftiness which impressed Hamor profoundly. 
 
 " He is an angel, our cure," said one of the rough 
 men by the door. "Jean s soul is going easily, 
 because the cure is there. See ! He does not struggle 
 now." 
 
 " I tried the smoke to-day," muttered another. " It 
 went up every time. There is no doubt about Jean. 
 His soul will go up." 
 
 "Jean was a brave fellow. Of course the smoke 
 went up. What could the devil do with a good Breton 
 sailor? Our Lady rest his soul ! " 
 
 The youngest grandchild, a mere bab}-, began pull 
 ing at Guenn s skirts, whimpering in a neglected man-
 
 360 GUENN. 
 
 ner. She stooped and lifted the little thing. It was 
 cold and wet, from creeping near the door where 
 the rain swept in. The young girl laid it on her 
 breast, covered it with her shawl, and clasped it close. 
 It gave a little contented sigh, and. fell asleep in the 
 pleasant warmth. Guenn stood very still, for fear of 
 waking it. One small helpless hand on her neck, and 
 the little drooping head on her shoulder, gave her a 
 strange sense of comfort. 
 
 When the last prayers for the departed soul had been 
 spoken, Thymert turned and saw her patientl} hold 
 ing the heavy child in her arms, her face drooping ten 
 derly over it, almost a smile on her lips. The others 
 were kneeling ; only Guenn stood erect, for fear of 
 waking the balry. 
 
 The men were talking again, their great voices hushed 
 in awkward but sincere respect for their mate s new 
 honors. The women were indulging in loud weep 
 ing. Guenn was silent, motionless, a deep thought- 
 fulness in her beautiful eyes. Jean was dead. But 
 Jean s baby grandson nestled on her shoulder, and the 
 strongly lighted, dear face in the doorway was smiling 
 warmly upon her. Already the world seemed less cruel. 
 
 Thymert looked down upon her one instant, then said 
 very gravely: "I will ask the sergeant s wife at the 
 fort to take care of } ou till morning." 
 
 " Ah, but I would rather go with 3*011 ! " 
 
 "You are to stay," he rejoined. 
 
 His tone in its impressive quiet exerted absolute 
 command. Here, on his stern islands, surrounded by 
 the fisher- folk that loved him, in the teeth of sorrow, 
 poverty, and death, he was supreme master. Here at 
 least, no stranger could outrank him. Guenn }-ielded 
 silently. For the moment, no girl, no individual affec-
 
 GUENN. 361 
 
 tion, pure as it might be, moved him. All his being 
 longed to expend itself at any sacrifice upon his people. 
 They made way for him as he went out of the house 
 into the roar of the surf and the winds, then back to 
 comfort the widow and children. Thymert comforted 
 best with his loving eyes. He was not adroit in the 
 use of words, and in his simple mind, the mysteries of 
 pain and death had never resolved themselves into 
 logical clearness. 
 
 Hamor, with his intellectual sympathy and artistic 
 comprehension, had stood unobtrusively in the narrow 
 doorway, watching the priest as he smoothed the pil 
 low and moistened the lips of the dying man, bending 
 his dark, tender face over him, motioning the women 
 to be more quiet, throwing back his noble head as he 
 listened to the mj sterious summoning voices of the 
 storm and the night and the surges, turning his brown 
 eyes slowly, with ineffable longing, upon the whole 
 meagre interior, loving his folk, ready to suffer, to die, 
 to be crucified for them in his unspeakable devotion. 
 
 The cold spray beat sharp as hail in their faces as 
 they came out on the sands. 
 
 " Why do you go over to-night, monsieur le rec- 
 teur? " asked an old fisherman, holding his lantern low, 
 as the} 7 made their way down the rocky path. " There s 
 not a roof that would not be proud to shelter you." 
 
 "They are restless these wild nights," Thymert re 
 plied, looking at the man earnestly. 
 
 "Ah, yes, that the} are," said the old fellow sym 
 pathetically, " and no wonder." 
 
 " When I stand there among the crosses, and say a 
 prayer for them, they are not so lonely," said the cure 
 simply. "I never leave them bad nights, you know; 
 God rest their brave souls ! "
 
 362 GUENN. 
 
 " Amen," returned the fisherman, crossing himself. 
 
 Jean s dog was silent now, and the brouette dc la Mort 
 had passed with the old fisherman s weary soul. 
 
 The wind blew the foam sharply in Guenn s face. 
 She was quite wet as she stood there while they got the 
 boat off. 
 
 " You can stay here, too, monsieur," Thyrnert said 
 to Hamor. "You can stay perfectly." 
 
 "No, no!" exclaimed Hamor warmly. "Sink or 
 swim, I m going with you." 
 
 Thymert waved his hand in silent sufferance. 
 
 " Good-night, good-night," sounded in hoarse cor 
 diality from the fishermen ; " Our Lady bring you safe 
 home ! " 
 
 " Good-night," called Guenn s fresh and lovely voice. 
 
 " Hurry back instantly, Guenn," answered Thymert ; 
 "you are wet through. Good-night, child; sleep 
 well." 
 
 The boat rose on the breakers, and the next instant 
 disappeared in the darkness.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 RODELLEC refilled the mugs, watching Hoel 
 closely. " Do I know what is going on when she 
 stays away a week ? " 
 
 " No, you don t," growled Loic. 
 
 Hoel shook his head dubiously. It was curious how 
 unconvinced his weak brain remained, in spite of Ro- 
 dellec s arguments. 
 
 " Did she ever go off and stay a week before? " 
 
 " No, she never did," responded Lo ic. 
 
 " But she came home ever} night, and monsieur le 
 recteur was looking after her," Hoel suggested feebly ; 
 " where s the harm? " 
 
 " Hoel," said Rodellec impressively, " I am a 
 father " 
 
 "For all of me!" Hoel ejaculated desperately; 
 " only Jeanne Ronan told me you let Guenn go your 
 self, free and willing ; and that s the truth." 
 
 " Jeanne Ronan," said Rodellec slowly, smiling,
 
 364 GUENN. 
 
 raising his e}-ebro\vs, shrugging his broad shoulders, 
 and throwing back his leonine head. 
 
 " Jeanne Ronan," echoed Loic, repeating the dispar 
 aging pantomime. 
 
 Rodellec refilled the mugs. The three men sipped 
 their grog in silence, eying each other expectantlj- over 
 the pewter rims. 
 
 " I don t say I was the happiest man in Plouvenec," 
 began the fair-skinned, strong man, with the long chest 
 nut hair curling about his shoulders; " Barba Our 
 Blessed Lady rest her soul ! was gone ; ray boy was 
 lame ; but my girl was honest and steady." He re 
 lapsed into an eloquent whimper. 
 
 "Honest? Steady? I should say as much! nicest 
 little girl in Plouvenec ! " exclaimed Hoel, warming 
 with his grog. " Fresh as a cheny blossom and fierce 
 as a bramble. No nonsense about her. I d knock the 
 man end over end that said there was ! " 
 
 " I don t say so." Rodellec changed his tone 
 quickly and refilled the mugs. " I only say that cursed 
 painter has bewitched them all." 
 
 Loic audibly consigned Hamor s soul to an undesir 
 able final resting-place. 
 
 " He beckons, she comes ; he lifts his finger, she 
 forgets us," continued the father. 
 
 Loic groaned. 
 
 " That gars grins and shows his white teeth, m}* girl 
 follows him like a lamb. She leaves her home ; she 
 rushes off before daylight to the islands. I say it bodes 
 no good. Where did she get her new clothes for the 
 Pardon? She won t tell me : is n t that queer? I don t 
 say there s anything amiss ; but I have a right to in 
 quire into these things. I am a father." He folded his 
 arms and looked virtuous.
 
 GUENN. 365 
 
 " Oil ! " said Hoel, beginning to waver. 
 
 " Hoel, I would n t speak of this to any one else ; but 
 a friend is a friend. I want to talk this matter over 
 quietly and calmly. I want your advice." 
 
 Hoel felt flattered. There seemed to be some justice 
 in this. 
 
 Mine is to punch his damned head and fling him off 
 the digue," Lo ic said, with a fierce glow in his jealous 
 eyes. 
 
 Rodellec made a significant warning gesture with his 
 finger across his throat, and refilled the mugs. 
 
 " If I only knew what he had done," remarked Hoel, 
 not unreasonabby. 
 
 Rodellec ignored this feeble groping after the truth. 
 " It would be better," he suggested slowly, " to happen 
 to meet him in some out-of-the-way place when he 
 comes home in the twilight. If there s a quarrel, and 
 he provokes us from words to blows, why, you see we 
 have our tale to tell, whether he lives to tell his or not. 
 But on the digue, there are too many people. Some 
 fool might call an accident by an ugby name." 
 
 A pane of glass in this back room behind the orange 
 light now shivered into fragments, and a stone almost 
 struck Rodellec s head. With an oath he went quickly 
 to the window and looked out ; but saw nothing, be 
 cause he looked too far. Crouched in complete shadow 
 close against the house lay Nannie, who knew how 
 to use bold measures when necessary. 
 
 Those boys ! Little they care where their stones 
 strike," Rodellec grumbled. " Well, never mind. As 
 I was saying, let s meet him coming home in a lane, 
 a little dusky, a little quiet, a fair quarrel, of course, 
 under the shadow of a wall. That s where I d like to 
 spoil his grin, and no questions asked."
 
 366 GUENN. 
 
 "But a fair quarrel," Hoel repeated with anxious 
 emphasis. 
 
 u To be sure, man, to be sure ! " said Rodellec, refill 
 ing the glasses and winking at Loic. " Have I ever 
 said anything else ? " 
 
 Hoel, at last rendered receptive to Rodellec s ideas, 
 became wildly eager to offend, injure, and exterminate 
 the foreign gars. But this condition of mind necessi 
 tated much previous refilling of the mugs, Rodellec 
 knew well, and was moreover fleeting as the fumes of 
 grog that produced it. Hoel possessed that kind of 
 weakness which is less easy to master than strength. 
 It j-ields and agrees ; but in the moment you need its 
 support, you discover that 3*our eloquence has been in 
 vain, and that you have not advanced an inch on 3 our 
 projected path. Rodellec s cause was bad ; but HoeTs 
 instability would have been a no less confusing factor, 
 had the end in view been creditable. The man had a 
 reputation for harmlessness which neither Rodellec nor 
 young Nives could boast. The latter had been in 
 volved in several bad affairs where knives were too 
 quickly drawn and too cruelly used, and man} episodes 
 in his short but varied career were hushed up by neigh 
 bors and friends. As for Rodellec himself, no one 
 posed more for the franc Breton than he, and being 
 prominently jovial among his men friends, the rough 
 folk about him did not concern itself much with his 
 buried past. Yet there were half-forgotten tales al 
 luded to when drink and anger loosened the tongue of 
 some man who had known him in his uncurbed youth, 
 tales which a public imprudence might at any time 
 revive unpleasantly. Rodellec would not have cared 
 to be cross-examined in regard to the smugglers on the 
 Gavrinz ; and nothing would have been less congenial
 
 GUENN. 3G7 
 
 to him than a vivid recoloring of a certain picture in 
 his memorj , dulled by time and insensibility, but still 
 capable of producing a glaring and painful effect. A 
 storm, a wreck, fierce men with lanterns on a rough 
 coast greedily seizing what the waves brought. Surely 
 what the angry sea laid at their feet was their own, 
 the wreckers reasoned. The sea had taken from one 
 crew and given to another. Who could gainsay the 
 sea in its wrath ? Yet to snatch a casket from a jaded 
 swimmer s breast, and knock him over the cruel rocks 
 back into the angry waves, where he had struggled so 
 manfully for his life, and a mere finger s touch would 
 have helped him to the safe shore Well, Rodellec 
 was young in those days it is true, and the men were 
 rough and not rigid-righteous ; but many years hypoc 
 risy was needed before he could fairly retake his place 
 among them. "It was a bitter night," he said. "I 
 had been working hard. The liquor went to my head. 
 You know how it is yourself. I never knew what I did. 
 Don t let us talk about it. God rest his soul ! " So 
 he spoke to his cronies, and Hoel for one always be 
 lieved him. 
 
 There was a myster} connected with Rodellec s wife s 
 last illness, and an uncertainty in regard to the cause 
 of Nannie s lameness ; but the marital and paternal 
 right to enforce authority with a blow was not in gen 
 eral disputed in Plouvenec certainty never so strongly 
 resented that a little more or less violence in this re 
 spect would be apt to make a sensation. Then what 
 we believe or do not believe of our neighbors seems 
 often a matter of accident or imagination rather than 
 of judgment. We assume that most incredible things 
 are true of strangers, and delight in positively knowing 
 thoughts and motives which it would seem only the eye
 
 3G8 GUENN. 
 
 of omniscience" could discern ; but we are blind where 
 we wish to be blind, and refuse to recognize the exist 
 ence of facts that stand like granite monuments in our 
 daily path. 
 
 Rodellec had an evil but a quiet conscience. He did 
 not intend to disturb the stagnant pools of his memory. 
 There being, as he said, lanes and twilights enough at 
 his disposition, he was determined to gratify his desires 
 without compromising himself too seriously, and, above 
 all, not to move in the matter without Hoel. Had Iloel 
 been with them that night, the granary would have 
 blazed up, he was full}- persuaded ; but old Morot, and 
 that fellow with the ghastly white face in the waves, 
 and Loic s Spanish sailor, made a spiritual alliance 
 against them too strong to be overcome. Strange that 
 a little slip could have such far-reaching consequences, 
 and stranger still that the murdered dead should hang 
 together in this clannish fashion. Well, the} were 
 none of them at swords points with Hoel. Hoel had 
 better take his turn and have his little experience, 
 Rodellec reflected smilingly, showing his agreeable 
 white teeth. 
 
 Hamor, in the mean time, went whistling through the 
 lanes, and singing through the twilights, and made 
 friends everywhere. One could with difficult} have 
 persuaded him that he had foes. So harmless, so 
 kindly, so considerate a man as he? Absurd. He 
 was conscious of having done faithful and creditable 
 work. The picture for the Salon was well along. It 
 was now December, and he had until March to finish 
 it. He had put it aside for a time, studying it each 
 day, but doing no actual work upon it until his im 
 pressions should be again quite fresh. Guenn was,
 
 GUENN. 369 
 
 however, every day in the studio, for he never knew 
 at what moment he might be moved to need her again. 
 She posed frequently for Staunton in the room below. 
 He found her restless, and complained that her mouth 
 had a way of growing heavy when he kept her long ; 
 but he paid small attention to his models in these 
 days, for at Christmas he was going to marry the little 
 Danish artist. He was so much in love that the vision 
 of two painters under one roof seemed to him the most 
 natural and charming prospect imaginable ; and the 
 conventional and cautious Staunton was about to flatly 
 contradict his traditions, and marry, for pure love, a 
 simple girl without family or prestige, of whose ante 
 cedents he knew nothing. But perhaps we are truer 
 when we most inconsistently contradict ourselves, than 
 when we fully coincide with what the world has made 
 us. Ilamor and Douglas rubbed their hands in delight 
 over Staunton s condition, but being men, did not jeer 
 at his new departure. 
 
 Ilamor was also occupying himself with various 
 ebauchcs of Thymert. He decided that something 
 acutely human would best represent the man, a 
 motive full of tangible emotion. There was a rocky, 
 sandy point opposite Plouvenec, which he had studied 
 several times. He was, in fact, coming up from it the 
 da}" Guenn had sculled him across the ferry. A ship 
 wreck indicated of course might be interesting, 
 and this strong man in intense grief beside the body of 
 some one he loved, his friend or his wife. Thymert 
 should be half-stripped, his hand clutching the sand, 
 his face set in agony, looking into his lost past. Should 
 it be a friend closer than a brother, whom he had tried 
 to save, or should it be a woman? Ilamor considered. 
 There was something to be said on both sides. He 
 
 24
 
 370 GUENN. 
 
 enjoyed nothing more than the fanciful building up of 
 motives. He erected and destroyed scores of such 
 castles even- da} . 
 
 One morning Douglas was with him, and Guenn sat 
 knitting in a window-seat. It was raining hard ; but 
 the sky looked promising, and the painters were hoping 
 to be able to work out of doors in the afternoon. 
 "Come, Guenn," said Hamor, suddenly, "just take 
 off 3 T our coiffe a moment, and lie down there on your 
 face, with your arms stretched out. I 11 show } ou 
 how." 
 
 Guenn did not move. 
 
 " Didn t you hear?" he said pleasantby. " Slip all 
 your head-gear off, please. I wish to tiy an effect of 
 drowned maiden s hair, Douglas. It would have to be 
 wet, you know, quite wet, if I should realty paint her. 
 I m not sure but I prefer the man. There s something 
 stronger in man s friendship. At least it always moves 
 me more." 
 
 "You prefer David and Jonathan to Romeo and 
 Juliet then?" drawled Douglas. 
 
 "Much," answered Hamor; then for the first time 
 looked up, surprised at Guenn s delaj^. 
 
 She sat perfect!} still in the window, her eyes cast 
 down, her cheeks crimson. 
 
 " Come here, Guenn," he said. 
 
 She came obediently to his side, but did not raise her 
 eyes. 
 
 The Puritan look appeared in Hamor s face, nar 
 row, reproving, honest, and mistaken. " Guenn, I cer 
 tainly have not been inconsiderate of your Breton wa}*s 
 and national prejudices. But I think after this long 
 time, knowing me as well as }~ou do, } ou ought not to 
 hesitate to show me \*our hair, if I wish it. Joanne or
 
 GUENN. 371 
 
 Victoria would obey me instantly. You should surely 
 know by this time that to us painters your hair is no 
 more than your face, whatever your Breton idea may be." 
 
 Still Guenn waited, breathing fast, clasping her hands 
 convulsively, her long lashes drooping. 
 
 Hamor thought her unreasonable and obstinate. 
 
 Douglas looked up from his work. " Oh, come now, 
 let her go ; they have their notions, you know," he said 
 kindly. 
 
 "My model is my model," Hamor replied stiffly. 
 "The girl has the most beautiful hair I ever saw. I 
 have treated her well. Ver} T few men are as careful of 
 models as I am. There is no reason under the sun 
 why she should not take off her coiffe." 
 
 Douglas shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Off with it, Guenn. If you don t remove it, I shall." 
 
 She did not stir, but the muscles round her mouth 
 quivered, and she raised her beautiful eyes once to his 
 face, with no reproach, but only piteous inquiry, pain, 
 and utter defeat in their blue depths. "Was I mad 
 then? He would rather have had the hair? Mon dieu, 
 mon dieu ! how could I know that ? He did not care for 
 the dancing or the new gown. Now he wants the hair, 
 and I have none to please him. How could I make 
 this terrible mistake? It was so long and brown and 
 shining and wavy ; it reached quite to my knees. And 
 now he needs it, and I have none, not even what the 
 other girls have, and mine was the prettiest ! If Our 
 Lady would only make it grow in one instant ! Or if I 
 could sink into the earth, before he sees ! " 
 
 " Guenn," said the painter kindly but seriously, 
 " we won t have any nonsense." He calmly ap 
 proached, untied the tape wound tight! y once or twice 
 around her head, then removed the coiffe.
 
 372 GUENN. 
 
 She made no resistance. Douglas was watching 
 gravely. Beneath the coiffe, instead of the usual series 
 of close caps, was but one cap, which Hamor gentry 
 took off. No one could resent his manner. It was as 
 firm, dignified, and lofty as that of a judge whom 
 conscience and the obligations of office compelled to 
 pronounce sentence on a Massachusetts witch a hun 
 dred years ago. But the judicial merged into the 
 boyish as he took one step back and exclaimed, "By 
 Jove ! " 
 
 Anj-thing more bewitching than the little head, 
 drooping before him in utter self-abasement, no man 
 had ever seen. Warm and moist from the caps, her 
 hair la} T flat, like a baby s, in soft, shining rings. 
 
 " Upon nry word ! " Hamor ejaculated, beginning to 
 laugh. 
 
 Two hot tears of mortification stole into Guenn s 
 eyes. 
 
 " Well, I won t laugh," said the painter good-na 
 turedly ; "it s pretty as it is, Guenn. But what pos 
 sessed you to be such a little idiot? I tell you she had 
 the most superb growth of hair I ever saw," he added, 
 turning to Douglas. "What made you do it?" he 
 asked curiously. He was speaking kindly now, and 
 Guenn could answer. 
 
 " I wanted some money," she muttered. 
 
 " For what?" 
 
 " For the Nevin Pardon," she replied mechanically, 
 with a strange indistinctness in her voice. 
 
 " Good heavens ! " exclaimed the young man, re 
 garding her speculatively. " Well, Guenn, I won t 
 reproach 3*011." He felt that this was rather magnani 
 mous, since he actually at this moment needed her lost 
 locks. " It s }"our affair, of course. Just run out and
 
 GUENN. 373 
 
 find somebody with long hair, will you? sunny brown, 
 as much like yours as possible, and a long kind 
 of girl, if 3 ou can find her, one that belongs with the 
 hair, you know. You are not long, but your lines give 
 the effect of length. Can you find somebody?" he 
 asked carelessty. 
 
 " Oh, 3 es ! " she answered, pulling on her coiffe and 
 turning away. Her voice sounded hoarse. 
 
 " Guenn ! " called Hamor, as she reached the door, 
 he often had an amiable impulse, "3-011 don t mind 
 my laughing? You looked like such a babj-, you know. 
 Of course you have every right to cut off your own hair 
 if you like. You are not cross because I laughed? " 
 
 " Oh, no, monsieur ! " and she tried to smile. 
 
 "By the way, if you send somcbod} along for an 
 hour or so now, I shall not need 3-011 any more to-da3 T : 
 I shall be down on the Point until dark. Come in to 
 morrow, as usual, will 3 ou? " 
 
 " Yes," said Guenn faintly, and went to find a girl 
 whose hair was long as her own used to be. It seemed 
 to her if monsieur had not turned awa3 his head that 
 da3 , his laugh just now would not have hurt her so 
 much. " Lena s hair is long and brown, longer than 
 anybody s since I cut mine off. She won t want to 
 come, but I ll make her. If I have not what he 
 needs, I must find somebod3 r who has," she moaned, with 
 a grand kind of reasoning for a woman. " But, oh, n^ 
 hair, 1113- long, pretty hair ! how could I know he would 
 need it some da3*? How could I know?" And she 
 went to find Lena. 
 
 " Well," remarked Hamor, as she went out, "women 
 are all alike. If it is n t one vanit3 , it s another." 
 
 " H m," said Douglas, doubtfully, " I don t pretend 
 to know much about them."
 
 374 GUENN. 
 
 " Without conceit, I must admit that I think I do," 
 said Ilamor. 
 
 That afternoon he went down to the Point, and in 
 tended when it grew dark to come home the long way 
 through the chemins creux, and along the shore-road to 
 the feriy. But happil}-, just as he was obliged to stop 
 work, a boat appeared, and Meurice s hearty voice 
 hailed him. 
 
 Hamor was only too glad, after a busy day, to take 
 a turn on the bay. lie came back to dinner in high 
 spirits and with an excellent appetite. It struck him 
 that it was odd Mem-ice happened to be clown there 
 contrary to his habit, but he forgot to ask why. Indeed 
 it was a matter of no importance whatever. The main 
 thing was, that he had had a charmingly invigorating 
 sail in the dusk. 
 
 Between five and six dense darkness prevailed in the 
 lanes through which Ilamor always returned from the 
 Point. Behind a great wall, where a narrow path inter 
 sected a broader, stood three men. 
 
 " You get in his way, and when he objects, trip him 
 up." 
 
 "Accidentally " mumbled Iloel. The ivy-leaves 
 above his head began to rustle softly. 
 
 " However you like," Rodellec answered impatiently ; 
 " only do it." He had heard enough of HoeTs scru 
 ples. " You begin ; we ll finish." 
 
 " He s late," grumbled Loic Nives. 
 
 Presently sabots sounded on the stepping-stones. 
 " The gars walks like a cat," thought Iloel. The foot 
 steps came nearer. Iloel peered from behind the cor 
 ner of the wall. It was very dark ; but surely the 
 painter was taller than this. Rodellec from behind 
 gave an impatient signal. " It must be the grog that
 
 GUENN. 375 
 
 makes my eyes queer," thought Hoel, rushing violently 
 against the advancing person, who, however, received 
 him with a very well aimed blow in the breast. 
 
 "Keep to your own side of the road, will you?" 
 called a girl s voice, angrily. " What do you mean, 
 stupid ! almost knocking a body down? " 
 
 " The devil ! " exclaimed Herve Rodellec, and lighted 
 his lantern. 
 
 "Where s your milk-faced painter?" demanded 
 Loic, furiously. His unguarded words were checked 
 too late by Rodellec. 
 
 Guenn stood looking at them with unutterable scorn, 
 measuring them from head to foot. " Oh ! you were 
 waiting for Monsieur Hamor, were you ? " she said 
 slowly. " What! only three? Was there nobody else 
 to keep you company and lurk in the dark, and strike 
 down a young fellow that comes singing along the lanes, 
 because he s got a good conscience and never did any 
 harm to anybody in all his life ? " 
 
 Hoel felt suddenly sobered, and began to look un 
 comfortable. Guenn had not }*et glanced at her father, 
 who was wrathfully considering the awkward turn of 
 events. 
 
 " Who told you we were waiting for Hamor? " Nives 
 asked sullenly. 
 
 " You yourself just now, Lo ic Nives, with your own 
 stupid tongue ! " she answered cleverby. 
 
 He could not deny this, and cursed his awkwardness. 
 
 " Who said we were going to do any harm?" asked 
 Hoel, in his weak fashion. 
 
 " When three men like you hide in a place like 
 this, after dark," she shrugged her shoulders signifl- 
 cantty. 
 
 " Now see here," Rodellec at last began : " you
 
 376 GUENN. 
 
 can t play anything off on us. We ve got you here, 
 and answer you shall." His tone was so rough and 
 threatening that even Nives stepped forward with 
 some anxiety. 
 
 Guenn folded her arms across her breast, and looked 
 calmly at her father. "Now I must be wise for his 
 sake," she thought, her heart beating high with courage 
 and devotion. The evening breeze seemed, curiously 
 enough, to be stirring the ivy-leaves only in one 
 spot. 
 
 " Don t }*ou lie now ! " 
 
 " I never lie," answered the girl, with her proud air. 
 
 " Where did you leave him? " 
 
 " Leave whom?" 
 
 "Don t catechise me! You know well enough, 
 him, the painter, Hamor," roared llodellec. 
 
 " In his atelier, at half-past ten o clock this morning." 
 
 He thrust the lantern close to her face. It almost 
 seemed that she was smiling. 
 
 " Is that the last time you saw him? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Rodellec threw the lantern light along the dark roads, 
 and peered suspiciously in every direction. 
 
 "You needn t think he s hiding! You needn t 
 think he sent me, a girl, along in front of him. He 
 is n t a coward ! " she exclaimed, with involuntary but 
 triumphant emphasis. 
 
 "Where have you been?" Rodellec continued his 
 cross-examination. 
 
 " Across the fields to Marie Brenn s," she returned 
 promptly, " because her grandmother s had a fall, and 
 Marie has double work." 
 
 " Where s the painter? " 
 
 " I heard him say this morning that he was going
 
 GUENN. 377 
 
 down on the Point. I told 3*011, I have n t seen him 
 since," she replied, with well-assumed carelessness, 
 standing always erect before them, her arms folded, her 
 head high, her eyes fearless and watchful. 
 
 "Are you going to tell him to-morrow that he d 
 better not sing along lanes after dark for fear of spoil 
 ing his voice?" demanded Nives, jealous and angiy. 
 
 She could riot resist a mocking reply. " If you don t 
 do more harm than you ve done to-night, I shall need 
 to tell nothing whatever." 
 
 Her father leaned towards her fiercely. "And if 
 we do? " 
 
 " But 3 ou won t, 3 ou know," she said nonchalantly. 
 
 He made an ugly movement. 
 
 " Let her alone, Rodellec. She is n t to blame," 
 urged Nives, brutal himself, but young and in love. 
 
 She turned towards him aggressively, her hands on 
 her hips. " Suppose you hold 3 our tongue, Loic Nives. 
 Guenn Rodellec never needed such as you to fight her 
 battles, and less this moment than ever before. I de 
 spise 3*011 and 3 our wa3"s, and I 11 never give 3 ou a 
 decent word again as long as I live ! Skulking behind 
 a wall. Shame ! " 
 
 " Stop that, 3 ou vixen," interposed her father. 
 " Answer me. Did 3 ou tell that fool not to come home 
 this wa3" ? " 
 
 " I did not tell Monsieur Hamor," with a respectful 
 intonation, " not to come home this wa3 ." 
 
 " Did 3 ou tell him we were waiting for him? " 
 
 " I did not." 
 
 Did 3 ou know we were waiting for him ? " 
 
 Guenn tossed her wisdom and coolness to the night- 
 winds. She flung up her arms, let them fall with her 
 desperate gesture, and said hotby : "Oh, what does it
 
 378 GUENN. 
 
 matter what I know, or don t know ! I know there s 
 mischief brewing. Is n t that enough ? I know an 
 honest man s not safe to go his own way and think his 
 own thoughts. Isn t that enough? I know three Bre 
 tons Plouvenec men, good sailors," her voice rose 
 passionately with every word, " brave enough on sea 
 to be something better than cowards and murderers on 
 land are standing here glaring at me, a girl, as if 
 they were afraid of me, because their hearts are blacker 
 than the night they ve chosen for their dirty work. 
 That s what I know. Make the most of it ! " 
 
 " Hush ! he will kill }"ou," cried Hoe l, in terror, step 
 ping between father and child, as Rodellec s face dark 
 ened with rage. 
 
 " You look ashamed. You d better go home, Hoe l," 
 she retorted contemptuously. " What are you doing 
 here? Whether I am killed or not, I don t want help 
 from a man who sneaks behind a wall, ready to give a 
 blow in the back, a dark night, in a lonely lane ! " 
 
 " Guenn, little Guenn, pretty little lass," cried Hoe l, 
 " I have always liked you, I alwa} s took your part." 
 
 " Sneak, I say ! " she replied, turning her back upon 
 him. 
 
 In some way the young girl, helpless in the dark 
 lane before these men, seemed to be getting the better 
 of them. 
 
 " What has he ever done to any of you? " she went 
 on. " Nothing, and you know it ! Kill me if }*ou will. 
 Chop me up in little pieces, and fling me over the wall ! 
 What do I care? You can t frighten me. You can t 
 prevent me from having my say. You have had yours," 
 she faced her father directl} . "I never told of you, 
 so help me, my dead mother. But } ou ve made me an 
 swer before these men. Now answer me ! "
 
 GUENN. 379 
 
 Before the imperious, ringing voice every man of 
 them felt abashed. Roclellec was the first to rally. 
 
 " Look here now. This high and mighty won t do." 
 
 " I want to know what he has ever done to you," she 
 persisted. 
 
 " This is the first time I ever saw a girl trying to 
 confess her own father," sneered Rodellec. " One 
 thing he s done, he s bewitched }"ou, sure enough. 
 He s made you forget what a steady honest girl ought 
 to remember." 
 
 " He has n t," cried Guenn, with flashing eyes. " He 
 never did anything in his life that was n t good, too 
 good for such as you to understand ! " 
 
 " Guenn," said Hoel, timidly, touching her in an in 
 gratiating manner on the elbow, k don t be angry. I 
 don t mean an}- harm, 3-011 know. It would be natural 
 enough for any man, I don t deny, such a pretty little 
 lass as you are. But did he ever kiss you quite 
 accidental-like, of course?" 
 
 " He ! " exclaimed the girl, with superb scorn for the 
 question and questioner. That shows how mean your 
 thoughts are. He ! he never thought of anything so 
 small as that. He only thinks of sunsets and lovely 
 colors, and great drooping trees and the sea, and every 
 little flower and herb, and every little child s face. He 
 has a kind word for everybody, and a beautiful smile. 
 When the old men and women sit along the road too 
 weaiy to move, the sight of his bright face is a rest and 
 a comfort. He lifts ever}- little child up in his arms. 
 He cares for a lame dog, for a tired horse, for every 
 thing that suffers. I ve seen him look soriy for a faded 
 rose. And you cowards hide here to kill him ! " 
 
 Her clear and fresh voice rang out boldly on the still 
 night. In the brief pause that followed her indignant
 
 380 GUENN. 
 
 words, the dry leaves rustled continuously above her 
 head. 
 
 " You need n t shout it through all Cornouaille," Lo ic 
 muttered sullenly. 
 
 Rodellec watched her with his evil frown. 
 
 "Well, Guenn," began Iloel apologetically, "tell 
 us one thing. I Ve heard hints for weeks ; I m tired 
 of hints. Now tell me, and I shall know. Who gave 
 you your fine clothes for the Pardon ? " 
 
 In an instant she had torn the coiffe from her head. 
 What need had she to keep her secret now ! " Oh, that s 
 what s the matter ! Look ! Enjoy it ! I cut it off 
 myself. It was the prettiest hair in Plouvenec, the 
 longest, the brownest. Well, I cut it off because I 
 wanted to, because I wanted some money. Have you 
 men who hide behind walls anything to say against that?" 
 
 The lantern-light flashed strongly on her face and 
 slender figure, swaying excitedly as she spoke. She 
 was vivid as a flame in the darkness. The men stared 
 at her in amazement, and felt ill at ease. 
 
 She passed her fingers through the mass of short, 
 closely curling hair. " There it is. Look at it. Look 
 to your heart s content." She turned completely round. 
 u Are 3 ou satisfied ? Then I 11 put on rny coiffe." 
 
 " What I want to know, and what I will know, is how 
 you in your impudence find out my plans," said Ro 
 dellec, with a great oath. 
 
 She laughed bitterly. " Does one need to be wise 
 for that? when }-ou three leave the other men and 
 whisper together nights, when you scowl at Monsieur 
 Harnor crossing the common, when 3-011 watch every 
 step he takes, and follow him when he stands on the 
 edge of the digue smiling in the starlight, smiling down 
 on the water, happy with his beautiful thoughts ? "
 
 GUENN. 381 
 
 There was a vigorous rustling in the great ivy-vines 
 on the wall. 
 
 " What makes you watch him so close? " sneered her 
 father. 
 
 She gave a little start, then answered coldly, " Every 
 body in Plouvenec knows Guenn Rodellec likes fair 
 pla}* ; I would n t see a dog hurt if I could help it." 
 
 Her father looked at her with intense suspicion. 
 "There s something I don t get at," he muttered. 
 "Have you ever put him on his guard against us? 
 Does he know I hate him ? " 
 
 "If he knows, it s because he is n t blind, and has 
 seen the hate in j our eyes. For never a word have I 
 told of what I see and know, and feel all the time in 
 the air. But he s so sunny-hearted he forgets, and so 
 brave he does n t care ! " 
 
 "If 3011 are lying to me! if }-ou told him not 
 to come back by this lane to-da} T ! " 
 
 "But I didn t," she cried vehemently, "/tell 
 against Plouvenec men, unless it was to save a life? I, 
 Guenn Rodellec, say to a strange gars that three Breton 
 sailors are three mean, dirty cowards? I would bite 
 out my tongue first. Can t you see that I am ashamed, 
 deathly ashamed of }"ou, ashamed of myself for be 
 longing to you? I would rather die than tell such a 
 thing to him, than put anything so ugly, so like a 
 creeping slimy snake among his beautiful white thoughts. 
 Oh, it is no use talking about him to you," she said, with 
 disdain. " You can t understand. You crawl in the 
 dirt. He is up among the clouds. His life is as far 
 from yours as heaven from earth. Don t I know? 
 Haven t I seen, day by day? And I didn t know at 
 first ; I did not understand. I was like you except," 
 haughtily, "I never was a coward. And because he is
 
 382 GUENN. 
 
 good you hate him ! Because eve^ bocty loves him ; 
 because he is kind to all Plouvcnec ; because he does 
 not get drunk, and lose his brain, and act like a mad 
 man and a beast ! Because he works harder than 3-011 
 all, early and late, and when he is tired and discour 
 aged ; for I know when he is that, I know every line 
 of his face and he is patient, he does n t rave and 
 swear like you. Because his life is clean like his hands, 
 you hate him, cowards! Oh, I was proud of my 
 Plouvenec, and now, now I am ashamed ! " 
 
 There was a most persistent rustle of dissatisfaction 
 in the ivy-leaves, but Guenn paid no heed to that, or to 
 her father s menacing face. 
 
 "Oh, I shall speak now!" she said; " nobod} 7 can 
 stop me. I did n t mean to speak like this ; but you would 
 make stones speak. I came along here because I 
 thought I d find out exactly how bad 3-011 are ; but I 11 
 tell 3-011 this much, Iloel." she laughed scorn full} , " if 
 you d run against Monsieur II amor as stupidly as you 
 did against me, he d have flung you over the wall, 
 easy ! And I 11 tell you again, he did not know you 
 were waiting for him here ; for then he would have come 
 along the lanes, singing louder and gayer than ever. 
 That s the kind of a gars he is ! And if you want to 
 know about me, and what I m going to do, I 11 tell you 
 three, straight in your faces, I never did tell of you. 
 She who is gone knows that," - facing her father now 
 squarely. " I never knew how to tell of .you." A great 
 sob broke in her innocent throat. " I never will tell of 
 you if I can help it ; but I will keep }"ou from harming 
 a hair of his head. I shall find you out, whatever you 
 do. I will stand between him and 3 ou. I would never 
 have stood against a Plouvenec man in a fair fight 
 with an}- stranger living, not even him ; but cowards
 
 GUENN. 383 
 
 and murderers sha n t have their way with a man like 
 him, not -while I can spy out their wicked plots, and 
 tell them to their faces what I think of them, as I tell 
 you now, you three ! And if the day comes when I 
 must go to him and stand before him (I know well how 
 he will look that da}- with his high head and smiling 
 eyes), if I must say Iloel and Nives and Rodellec are 
 howling after 3-011, like wolves thirsting for your inno 
 cent blood, I will say it, so help me Cur Lady of the 
 Isles. If you act, I act. If you are quiet, I am quiet. 
 If I can save him without speaking, I will. If not, 
 I speak ! I, Guenn Rodellec, say it ; and here I am ! " 
 
 " And I, Ilerve Rodellec," began her father, incensed 
 b} T her open defiance, and raising his brutal fist, when 
 a loud, unearthly shriek from behind him stayed his 
 hand. The three men crossed themselves, and Rodellec 
 tremblingh raised the lantern, disclosing on the very 
 top of the wall, comfortably extended on the giant 
 ivy-stems, Nannie, his weird face strongly lighted, 
 his head and supporting arms in shadow, his body 
 completely out of sight. 
 
 "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the opposite 
 wall. Rodellec turned. " How it beckons, beckons, 
 beckons, with its poor, pale arm ! " 
 
 A dead branch was moving slightly in the breeze and 
 tapping on the granite. In the dim light and stillness 
 it was not difficult for eyes blinded by superstition to 
 see whatever was expected of them. 
 
 "A Spanish sailor with blood upon his. breast ; a 
 white, white face in the foam ; a woman s poor, pale 
 arm," chanted the child on the wall. 
 
 They stared as if under a spell, crossed themselves 
 abjectly, and muttered startled, fragmentary prayers. 
 Guenn smiled gratefully at Nannie.
 
 384 GUENN. 
 
 Rodellec at length forced a laugh. "It s only his 
 monke3 T -tricks," he said apologetically, and coughed. 
 
 " It beckons to 3 ou with a bony hand ! " warned the 
 solemn voice from the wall. " The Spanish sailor looks 
 at Loic ; the face in the waves at you at 3*011." There 
 was another uncomfortable pause. 
 
 " You, who know everything," remarked Rodellec 
 with assumed indifference, and anxious to change the 
 subject, " tell us where Hamor the painter is." 
 
 " Gone out for a sail with Men rice, to be sure," an 
 swered Nannie promptly in his natural voice, and with 
 an audacious wink at Hoel. His change of tone always 
 made his audience start, a circumstance in which he 
 took great delight. 
 
 "If that s true, we might as well go home," mut 
 tered Nives. 
 
 " I was hoping he d still be coming along, in spite of 
 her yarn," returned Rodellec. 
 
 "I ve lost m} r appetite this time, and no mistake," 
 said Hoel, disconsolately. 
 
 "You are ashamed of yourself, Hoel," Guenn said 
 coolly ; " that s what s the matter with } ou." 
 
 "Well, I am, and that s a fact, Guenn. I said all 
 along I wanted a fair fight." 
 
 " Don t talk to me of fair fights, 3-011 drivelling 
 coward ! " 
 
 "We ve had enough of 3~ou, do 3 ou hear? We 
 don t want any more of your tongue ! " Rodellec shout 
 ed angrily. 
 
 "Very good," rejoined the girl; "but what my 
 tongue has said and your ears have heard is true this 
 night, and true for all my life. You know what lies be 
 tween us ; you know what to expect. Remember, 3 ou 
 three ! "
 
 GUENN. 385 
 
 " Trust me for not forgetting ! " returned her father, 
 with a threatening look. "It s awkward, this busi 
 ness," he began, as the} walked along. " We shall 
 have to wait. It will all come right in time ; but we 
 must wait till she gets over her tantrums. Nice brood 
 I ve got ; the devil fly away with them ! Never mind. 
 Hoe 1," with a jovial blow on his friend s shoulder, "it 
 was n t your fault that the canvas-dauber was n t there. 
 We old sailors will wait for the tide to turn, eh? " 
 
 " No boat of mine sails these plaguy waters again," 
 Hoel rejoined morosely. " Pretty little lass, standing 
 up and fighting fair, and giving it to us as hard as ever 
 she could ! No, no, Rodellec, I ve had enough of it. 
 Let the painter go ; let Guenn have her way." 
 
 " We ll see; we ll see, old man," returned Rodellec 
 consolingly. 
 
 Nannie climbed, not too well but wisely, down the 
 wall, and stood beside his sister, regarding her in the 
 dark with a kind of compassion. " Girls are fools," he 
 remarked impressively. It was merely his way of say 
 ing, " You have had trop de zele." 
 
 " Yes, I know," she answered with meekness ; " but 
 don t mind, Nannie. I could n t hold back any longer ; 
 I had to fl} at them. I should have burst." 
 
 " You began decently, but spoilt everything when you 
 told all you knew. Girls always tell all they know." 
 
 " Do the} ? " she answered gently. 
 
 " Why did n t you say you threw the stone, and I 
 crept in the shadow and listened ? Why did n t you tell 
 them that the Lord himself does n t follow them closer 
 than I do? only the Lord doesn t stop their fun, 
 and I stop it don t I ? every time. Why did n t you 
 say that I heard them again that night on the digue, 
 and that 3-011 told Meurice to go for monsieur to-day, 
 
 25
 
 386 GUENN. 
 
 and that you can wind Meurice round } T our finger? Why 
 did n t you tell that you well, you did tell that pretty 
 much, and if their brains were n t as dull as a hoe " 
 
 " Never mind, Nannie," she begged softly ; " can 3*00. 
 keep him away from me to-night, do } ou think ? " 
 
 "Don t know. He never was madder; he ll come 
 home red-hot. Perhaps you d better sleep at Jeanne s, 
 accidental-like, as Hoel says." He laughed contemp 
 tuously. 
 
 They walked on in silence through the dark lane. 
 Guenn slipped her hand in his. 
 
 "It would be a pity to hurt me," she murmured, 
 " before the picture is quite done, a great pity." 
 
 She sighed softly, and Nannie chuckled to himself in 
 the darkness, as he limped along the lane. 
 
 " That is n t the only pity," he grumbled. " There s 
 a great deal that s a pity. It s a pity that one is born. 
 It s a pity that one must live. It s a pity that one 
 must die. But there s one thing that is n t a pity, - 
 that there are fools to laugh at. I m going to laugh 
 at one to-night. You sleep at Jeanne s all the same. 
 You keep out of the
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ICH in beauty, soft in tem 
 perature, the Breton win 
 ter wore on. Not a great 
 distance from Paris, J 7 et 
 the heat and cold of the 
 capital in its extremes 
 never reached the mild 
 Plouvenec climate, tem 
 pered, the painters be 
 lieved, into moderation 
 exclusively for their needs. 
 It was rarely so cold that they could not sit eight 
 hours in the open air, and against sabots, corduroys, 
 youth, and health the dampness made little headway ; 
 while the atmospheric conditions were entrancing. 
 A painter indeed could hardly retain his sober senses, 
 and could be excused for extraA r agant language, when, 
 in the early evenings, all things were so submerged in 
 gleaming opal light, that even the gloomy island fortress 
 was forced to yield to the soft charm, and, suffused with 
 rose color, showed that it too, in its hard, cold way, 
 was looking at the sunset. 
 
 Staunton married the little Danish girl at Christmas ; 
 and a month after, Douglas, having a good opportunity, 
 went to Spain with a friend. These changes Hamor 
 regarded philosophically, and in fact was no less happy 
 now that his evenings were not enlivened b} T scientific
 
 388 GUENN. 
 
 whist. On the contran*, he attached himself more and 
 more to his queer and lonely studio ; and nights, when 
 winds howled, he would sit alone by his cheerful fire 
 reading a good book, absolutely content with his bach- 
 elordom, and untroubled by the world. His fire was 
 his delight and pride. He heaped upon it piles of broom 
 and indulged in genial reminiscence of great crackling 
 camp-fires of pine-branches at home, by noble Mt. 
 Katahdin, where all night long under the stars he had 
 communed with friends. He remembered, too, camp 
 ing out in Western woods, and one special fire which 
 he had guarded night and day for weeks, to cheer his 
 hunter and guide, suddenly taken ill on the march. 
 That was a strange experience, Hamor reflected, as he 
 sat one evening in the atelier. " How I hunted for 
 him, cooked for him, cared for him ! How gratefull} 
 he smiled ! Good fellow ! I wish I might see him 
 again. He d go through fire and water for me. It 
 certainly is worth while to do a kind thing now and 
 then. March with his hammers comes knocking at 
 our doors, says the Breton ballad ; and March with 
 his hammers seems inclined to take off my granary 
 roof. Yet it is still here, after all, heavenly still," 
 he thought, " no fumes of absinthe and vermouth, no 
 clicking of billiard-balls, no vulgar voices. As for 
 the wind, I like it ; as for the draughts, I am strong ; 
 as for rny incumbent, the ghost, thank God, I am not 
 superstitious. Tired with all these, for restful death 
 I ciy, " he read aloud, mouthing the words cheerfully, 
 when his door flew violently open, reminding him in 
 voluntarily of that morning, months ago, when Guenn 
 Rodellec stormed into his room. He turned his head 
 expectantly. 
 
 Guenn, breathless from running, shot like an arrow
 
 GUENN. 389 
 
 to the fireplace and dropped on her knees. " mon 
 sieur, O monsieur ! " she moaned, rocking to and fro. 
 
 Hamor had been reading Shakespeare s Sonnets, as 
 he always read them, with pure delight. Sometimes 
 there was a sensationalism about Guenn Rodellec which 
 irritated him. He looked down upon the coiffe bowed 
 over the two little hands rough still, in spite of the 
 cake of soap from Quimper ; upon the crimson kerchief 
 he saw every day ; upon the coarse skirts and sabots. 
 Surely this was not fitting apparel for high tragedy. 
 He felt a certain impatience with her attitude. Why 
 did she kneel on the hearth-rug? Why would she not 
 stand up and be sensible? 
 
 " Well?" he said, in somewhat cold interrogation. 
 
 "0 monsieur!" exclaimed the girl, struggling pain 
 fully for breath, while the genet fire crackled in uncon 
 scious cheerfulness. She looked in a confused way 
 round the familiar room. "They are coming," she 
 gasped. 
 
 "Who?" he said impatiently. 
 
 " The} Hoc l and Nives and he." 
 
 Hamor frowned slightly. These rougljf Bretons seemed 
 wholly irrelevant to the pure diction of the sonnet, 
 and his restful evening solitude. Guenn herself was 
 too staccato for his mood. Coming ? Where ? Here ? 
 When am I to have the pleasure of receiving the gen 
 tlemen, and what in the deuce do they want?" 
 
 "Not so smiling for the love of heaven, not so 
 careless ! O, how shall I tell you ! Go and get Mon 
 sieur Staunton, and then it will be bad enough." 
 
 " Monsieur Staunton? " 
 
 " Because he won t tell. He will stand by you, and 
 be silent afterwards. Oh, don t ask me questions, 
 only go." She shuddered palpably.
 
 390 GUENN. 
 
 " Why, Guenn, I believe you are actually fright 
 ened," he said kindly. 
 
 She broke into wild sobs. " O monsieur, you don t 
 know them. This time it is for life or death. Please 
 go for } T our friend ; and even then " There was a 
 slight sound in the court. She started violently, and 
 listened. 
 
 "Guenn, child, be sensible. I thought you were 
 proud of your courage ; I thought you claimed to be 
 the pluckiest girl in Plouvenec." 
 
 She looked at him" strangely, listening always, with 
 painful intentness, to every sound without. He was 
 speaking in a sententious, deliberate way that nearly 
 drove her mad. 
 
 " Three against one is not what men, as a rule, con 
 sider a fair fight, }"ou know. No doubt it is an Anglo- 
 Saxon prejudice ; still Suddenly reflecting the girl 
 had come out of pure kindness to warn him against her 
 own race and kin, it occurred to him that it was not in 
 the best taste to regale her with his mild irony ; he 
 therefore left his remark unfinished. "Come, Guenn, 
 you can understand this, I am sure," he began simply. 
 "These men are stronger than I, as anybodj- can see. 
 But I know better how to use my strength ; conse 
 quently I think I can make it sufficiently unpleasant 
 for them. Now } T OU run home again and go to sleep. 
 It s all right, you know. You are a good girl to warn 
 me, since } ou think it necessar} . I do not. I trust 
 my own good fist," smiling in a superior and reassur 
 ing wa} , and patting her shoulder quite paternally. 
 " Thank yon ^ 7 ery much, Guenn, but 1 shall not dis 
 turb Monsieur Staunton." 
 
 He had not risen from his chair or laid down his book. 
 Throwing back his head, he went on instructively.
 
 GUENN. 391 
 
 " Did you ever think what would happen if horses and 
 oxen knew their own strength ? It is well that some 
 beasts are ignorant of their vast possibilities for evil. 
 Now I know most of mine." He laughed carelessly. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Guenn, not hearing a word of this 
 chapter of natural history, dropping suddenly to the 
 floor again, half kneeling, half crouching by his side, 
 her hands pressed convulsively together, her face pale 
 as death, her blue eyes dilated with fear, her voice un 
 speakably sweet and appealing, in spite of its tremor 
 and the extreme rapidity of her utterance, "you are 
 content with me because I have learned to pose so well ; 
 is it not so? You say I pose best of all the girls. You 
 tell me I have helped make the great picture, and often 
 you think you would like to give me a pleasure. And 
 I always say no, for I want nothing. Is it not so, dear 
 monsieur ? But now is the time to give me a pleasure, 
 now, this moment. Go for Monsieur Staunton. Oh, do 
 not look like that. I cannot bear it. Not so smiling ! 
 I shall die if you smile so! Ah, must I tell you? 
 Must I say how bad the} are? Lo ic has his sailor- 
 knife, and Hoel an oak club, and he he has a pistol ; 
 and I heard what the} said, and I know what they 
 mean in their bad, bad hearts ! " 
 
 Hamor for the first time looked excited. The vein 
 in the middle of his forehead jumped into prominence. 
 
 " H m," glancing uneasily around his room. "What 
 can the brutes want ? What have I done to them ? " 
 
 "God knows, monsieur. Never mind what. The} 
 have been trying to hurt you all winter. You have not 
 noticed. That was natural, monsieur. They have 
 been prevented always " she hesitated an instant, " in 
 one way or another," she resumed quickly. "They 
 think you are going away soon. To-night they have
 
 392 GUENN. 
 
 sworn to kill yon. They know yon sit here alone even 
 ings. They have chosen to-night because the wind is 
 high. Shame on them that this is the truth ! Shame 
 on me, a Plouvenec girl, that must say it ! " she moaned, 
 wringing her hands in anguish. 
 
 " When do they propose to descend upon me?" he 
 demanded. " You have not told me that." He had 
 felt startled. The vision of three assassins attacking 
 an unarmed man has not precisely a sedative effect 
 upon the bravest spirit. Now his indignation and com- 
 bativeness were roused. He began to design a fitting 
 reception for the cowards. "When?" he repeated 
 with animation. 
 
 " If I tell him the truth, that they are coming now, 
 that they may be here an}" moment, he will stay, and all 
 is lost," was her agonized thought. " Shame, shame, 
 that I must lie to him ! Shame on them, shame on 
 us all. But since lie I must, I will lie well ! " She 
 sprang up, straightened herself, looked in his eyes, and 
 answered deliberate^, "In an hour." 
 
 " Oh, then there s no need of haste," sinking calmly 
 back in his chair. 
 
 "But monsieur may have difficulty in finding Mon 
 sieur Staunton," urged Guenn desperately. 
 
 " Oh no," laughed Hamor, "Monsieur Staunton is as 
 easy to find as the lighthouse. He is at home with 
 his wife." 
 
 "But if our people don t find monsieur here, the}- 
 will seek him elsewhere," she stammered. " They are 
 full to the throat with drink and hate. It would be 
 better to fight here than on the public street, monsieur?" 
 She was listening always, her soul in her e} es. 
 
 " True enough, child," he admitted, muttering to him 
 self ; and where can man fight belter than by his own
 
 GUENN. 393 
 
 hearthstone, rented, with all appurtenances, for twenty 
 francs a month?" 
 
 Guenn watched him in mute agon}-. If she said too 
 much she would betray herself, yet there was not a 
 moment to be lost. He slowly arranged his fire. He 
 thought, as every man thinks, that he was peculiarly 
 clever with a fire. He brandished the tongs with the 
 dignit} befitting a man whose fires are not as other 
 men s fires, who builds his structure according to his 
 own unique system, and surveys the result with just 
 pride. Hamor never picked up a fallen ember, and laid 
 it across the central blaze, without a certain amount 
 of ingenuous self-glorification. He had it finally to his 
 satisfaction, well back and compact in the chimne}*, the 
 back-log discreetly covered with ashes, the andirons 
 slightly pulled out. Then he put the shovel and tongs 
 in their places, and looked down approvingly. 
 
 Guenn saw always three dark forms approaching 
 stealthily through the night. " Where are they now? 
 Have they landed? Is there yet time? " 
 
 Hamor took off his coat and brushed it, smiling at 
 this sudden access of punctiliousness. " Madame 
 Stauuton, it is your doing," he thought with amusement. 
 "Now when I go to see Staunton and his wife I always 
 feel rather queer, as if I would not object myself to 
 having a little woman about evenings. There is some- 
 
 O O 
 
 thing in it, after all. But good heavens ! what woman, 
 charming enough to please me, would ever consent to 
 obliterate herself days for the honor of enlivening my 
 evening hours? It may succeed with Staunton. It 
 looks as if it would. But painters in general ought 
 not to marry. It is asking too much of the woman. 
 Art, my art, be gracious to your slave ! Only be 
 gracious, my love, my wife, my mistress, nay goddess,
 
 394 GUENN. 
 
 and let the others purr in their chimney-corners. Je 
 m en moque bien ! " 
 
 He put on his coat and looked round the atelier. "In 
 an hour, did you say?" He intended to be reacty for 
 the rascals, but he did not like to feel that he must 
 hurry on their account. 
 
 " In an hour," she repeated in a strained voice. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be wise to do something with the 
 picture," Hamor soliloquized. " It s paying rather too 
 much of a compliment to the brutes ! Still, months 
 of work, and that last bit of painting on the wrist 
 I shall never happen to do so well again." 
 
 " Monsieur, I will take care of the picture." 
 
 " But how, child? There is no place." 
 
 " I will, monsieur knows I will. Is it not my pic 
 ture? Don t I want to stand in the Salon before all 
 the grand people ?" She tried to smile and toss her 
 head. " The picture shall be safe, if monsieur will only 
 go onry go now ! " 
 
 "Ah, if it s a question of a girl s vanity," Hamor 
 returned with good-humor ; " I forgot that mighty lever 
 in human affairs. Well then, Gucnn, I trust you. 
 Take care of it. Take care of }-ourself." 
 
 " One of the most surprising things in the world," he 
 thought, observing her with his 3 oung man s wisdom, 
 "is the nervousness of womankind. City or country, 
 they are all alike. This girl now, is morbidlj" nervous." 
 He wandered off into medical speculations, which always 
 interested him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I m going," as she sprang towards him, 
 white, speechless, and imploring. " But I don t need 
 an hour to muster my modest reinforcements. I could 
 bring a regiment here in that time. Good-night. You 
 are a very kind-hearted, good girl," he added cordially, 
 " and I wish I knew what would please you."
 
 GUENN. 395 
 
 " Only go ! " she gasped. 
 
 " I must say I never was so unceremoniously ejected 
 from my own quarters. Good-night. Don t disturb the 
 lire. See to the picture. It s wet, 3-011 know. Don t 
 smooch it. And run home as fast as 3-011 can. It s 
 dark and late. Then those fellows will be in a prett3 
 rage if the\* find you here. And Guenn, if aivj old 
 woman would make a tisane for 3*011, it wouldn t be a 
 bad idea. That sounds thoughtful, doesn t it? The 
 fact is, men are selfish beings, and I don t want you to 
 fail me a day just now. You look feverish. If 3 ou 
 should be ill and could n t pose, " lie shook his finger 
 at her warningby. 
 
 Another time and her heart would have bounded 
 with joy at so much kindness. Now she came swiftly 
 to him, took his hands, and led him towards the door. 
 She who was always half savage, half timid at a touch. 
 The small, coarse hands, grasping his convulsiveby, were 
 ice-cold. Hamor yielded to her movement. " She is 
 sureh* going to be ill," he thought. At the door which 
 she opened, steadily pushing him over the threshold, 
 he said seriousby : "Do take a tisane, Guenn. Tell 
 madame at the V^ageurs, I beg her to make 3*011 a 
 nice one. You will take it if I wish ? " he added, know 
 ing her deep-rooted instinct against an3 description 
 of medicine. 
 
 "Yes, 3~es, I will take it; I will take an3 thing," 
 she answered hoarsely. 
 
 "That s a good child." Putting his arm lightly 
 around her, he stooped and carelessly kissed her cheek. 
 She did not even shrink at his touch, but stood rigid, 
 very near him, with the unspeakable distress on her 
 face. He went whistling down the stairwa3~, and 
 tramped lustily through the court.
 
 396 GUENN. 
 
 " Holy Mother, what a noise he makes ! " still listen 
 ing with painful tension. She heard him swing the gate 
 to with a bang, stride over the pavement beyond, open 
 and close the heavy door under the arch. lie was safe 
 for the time. She could breathe now. She closed her 
 eyes and leaned against the door, her hands pressed 
 close against her breast. She felt a strange exhaustion 
 in every limb ; but she dared not wait. " I will take 
 the picture down to the woodhonse. No one will see 
 it until I come myself to-morrow, I shall come so early. 
 And as soon as it is safe, I will warn the chief of police. 
 I thought I would not, but it is no use. I must, I 
 must ! Shame that Gucnn Rodellec must turn against 
 Plouvenec men ! " 
 
 She crossed the room to the little table by the fire. 
 A book was lying open. She looked wistfully at the 
 strange language he liked to read, and passed her hand 
 tenderly over the page from which he had turned. 
 Then she carefully closed the little volume of sonnets, 
 remembering that he usually closed his books himself. 
 He cared for them. She felt very tired and faint. 
 Kneeling, she laid her cheek against the book, the 
 cheek he had kissed, against the book his hand had 
 touched. 
 
 " But there is no time, no time," she murmured wea- 
 rih . Her quick ears caught a sound below. Surely 
 there were footsteps ! Surely the gate was stealthily 
 opening! They were there, then, already there, and it 
 was too late to save the picture. She bounded to it, 
 and stood by the great canvas, her arms outstretched, 
 her face flashing defiance towards the door, ready to 
 die for his work as she would have died for him. Once 
 more she gazed wildly around. 
 
 " O sweet Mother of Christ, is there no way ? "
 
 GUENN. 397 
 
 The light? The}- had already seen it; it was of no 
 use now to blow it out. Suddenly her glance fell on the 
 narrow door which opened upon the empt} r loft. Her 
 action scarcely slower than her thought, she seized the 
 heavy picture, mindful even then of Hamor s caution not 
 to rub it, and bore it swiftly across the atelier. Would 
 it pass through ? Was it too high ? She heard foot 
 steps, muffled and slow, on the stairs. There was not 
 an instant to lose. She unlocked and opened the door. 
 The stretcher grazed the doorway, but went through, 
 resting on the beam three feet beyond. Guenn, one 
 foot on the beam, the other on the door-sill, supporting 
 the awkward, heavy canvas, managed to softly close 
 the door just as the door at the opposite end of the long 
 room opened, and the three men entered, saluting the 
 empty studio with loud imprecations. 
 
 " If they find me, they will cut the picture in pieces, 
 and kill him when he comes," thought Guenn in 
 anguish, balancing herself and her charge above fifty 
 feet of darkness. " Wait, there is straw beneath; he 
 sent me for some yesterday for Jeanne s picture. Where 
 was it? Let me think." Her head felt confused in the 
 darkness. " It was on the right side, by the right 
 wall, and I have not turned. If I can move the picture 
 along, if I can drop it straight, so that it will fall all at 
 once and flat, on the wrong side, it will not hurt it ; and 
 if it should, he would forgive me if he knew. They 
 won t hear if I do it now, while the} T are quarrelling. 
 First of all I must take off my sabots and hide them. 
 There must be a place under the door-sill." 
 
 So reasoning, with great difficulty, in spite of her un- 
 nsual strength, she swung the canvas round until it 
 rested lengthwise on the beam ; then edged along as best 
 she could, pushing the high stretcher before her. This
 
 398 GUENN. 
 
 beam was her horror by noonday. She could now see 
 absolutely nothing ; but she closed her eyes instinctively, 
 fearing the giddy depths below her, fearing ghastly 
 shapes. Presently the picture would go no further, 
 having struck the sloping roof. Then Guenn, with a 
 prayer to all her saints, dropped it. It did not fall flat 
 and noiselessly as she had anticipated. Owing to some 
 cause, unknown in her philosophy, one corner struck 
 the hard floor. The taut canvas rang like a drum, then 
 fell over softly on the straw. 
 
 " If only the wet side is up ! " groaned the wretched 
 girl, now on her hands and knees, creeping along the 
 beam. She knew the noise would attract the men. 
 They would find her. " Meine chose, if only they don t 
 see the picture. Perhaps they will see nothing, it s so 
 dark." She was crouching at the extreme end now, 
 under the low rafters. 
 
 They threw open the door. 
 
 "Take care, there s no floor there," called young 
 Nives. The place looked vast and black. The three 
 men, with their keen sailor-ej-es, blinked uneasily into 
 the indefinite space. 
 
 "I d like to hang the painter s cursed long body on 
 that beam, alongside of old Morot," muttered Rodellec. 
 " Hoel, just bring that lamp here, will 3*011? " 
 
 Nives crossed himself, with an expression of anxiety 
 on his ugly face. "See here, Rodellec, I wouldn t 
 talk of Morot in that way at least, not here. He 
 might not like it." 
 
 "If he doesn t," returned Rodellec, reckless and 
 angry, " he s welcome to show himself and say so." 
 
 " Oh, I 11 thank you for that till I die," cried Gnenn s 
 heart passionately ; " 3*011, even yon, 3*011 as 3*011 are, 
 as 3*ou have alwa3*s been to me." Tearing her shawl
 
 GUENN. 399 
 
 from her shoulders, her quick brain suggesting that she 
 must conceal her head and as much of her figure as 
 possible, she clasped her trembling hands convulsively 
 over the beam, and with a supreme prayer to all her 
 saints, dropped and hung above the fifty feet of dark 
 ness. "If only I don t fall on the picture!" she 
 moaned, as her wrists strained cruelh . " O Monsieur 
 Morot s ghost, don t be angry, for you see yourself 
 how it is. Our Ladj r knows I don t mean anything 
 disrespectful to } - ou ! " 
 
 Hoel came along with the lamp, which did not pro 
 duce much effect upon the gloom in the great empty 
 granary. "The noise must have been in the stables 
 after all," he said. " Now that I think of it, it 
 sounded like hoofs," holding the light high, and peer 
 ing into the most obscure corners. Guenn was in such 
 profound shadow, so nearly on a line with the doorway, 
 that the}- did not at first perceive her. 
 
 Suddenly Nives, with a loud exclamation of horror, 
 pointed towards her. His excited eyes saw a long dark 
 hideous object swaying from the beam. In a moment 
 the three had shut the door between them and the hor 
 rible sight, and stood at the extreme end of the room, 
 staring at one another in cowardly uncertainty. Ro- 
 dellec took the precaution of putting his back against 
 the entrance door. 
 
 " Let me go out, Rodellec," said Hoel. " I tell 3-011, 
 I ve had enough." 
 
 " It won t hurt us," answered Rodellec, his teeth 
 chattering audibly. 
 
 " We needn t be too sure of that," muttered Xives. 
 
 "I never liked this affair. I ve been drawn into 
 it," complained Hoel. " I have not anything against 
 the painter. It s all your fault."
 
 400 GUENN. 
 
 " I don t mind fighting men," began Nives in his 
 turn. " As for fighting ghosts, I won t. It s unchris 
 tian. Tt s contrary to the Church." 
 
 "It s unlucky even to see such things," Iloel said 
 querulously, his eyes fixed upon the other end of the 
 room. " Let me go, I say, Rodellec. It s a bad place. 
 It s a bad job. I want to go home." 
 
 " They protect the painter," began Xives. " There s 
 no doubt of it. There s always somebody they protect. 
 They have their likings, like flesh-and-blood people. 
 If they had n t protected him, we d have had him 
 months ago. No good Breton ought to go on against 
 them. It s no use. It s against the Church. Let s 
 go home, Rodellec." 
 
 Rodellec stood with his broad back obstinately against 
 the door. He was himself in abject fear, but his hate 
 for Hamor was stronger still. He walked through the 
 room with a swagger. " Take that," he said viciously, 
 kicking a hole in Ilamor s largest charcoal-sketch, " and 
 that," throwing the blue vase on the floor, and fling 
 ing the Shakespeare Sonnets into the fire. "Come, 
 come," he said, somewhat relieved by his bluster; " it 
 was a little scare. It has nothing to do with us. We 11 
 pound the painter s head all the same. Mark my 
 words. Old Morot will have nothing to say against 
 that." 
 
 Three loud distinct knocks sounded on the other 
 door. The next instant the men were flying breathlessly 
 clown the crazy stairway and through the court, never 
 stopping until the}- reached the orange light. 
 
 Guenn, as soon as possible after the door was closed, 
 had climbed up on the beam. Her poor arms felt pulled 
 out of their sockets. Her throat was dry and parched. 
 The blood was rushing furiously to her head. She
 
 GUENN. 401 
 
 dreaded, every instant, that she must fall from sheer 
 weakness. She steadied her head against the rafters, 
 and blew on her fingers to cool their burning. She was 
 small and light, unusually muscular for a girl ; but sho 
 had supported her own weight with her arms several 
 minutes, and felt plrysically and mentally exhausted. 
 
 " If only he w r ill stay away. If only Monsieur Staun- 
 ton keeps him. How long is it since he went? How 
 long have I been here?" She could not tell. It 
 seemed, for the pain and fear and misery, that she 
 might have been there hours, weeks, an eternity* . She 
 could not hear what the three men were saying, but 
 the murmur of their voices reached her constantly. 
 " I must make them go away ; if I die, I must do that. 
 Forgive me, Monsieur Morot s ghost, but I must make 
 them think it is you. Don t be angn*. Forgive me ; 
 for I have no choice, 3-011 sec yourself." 
 
 She crept along the dangerous beam, reached one 
 foot over to the doorsill, and, summoning her last re 
 maining strength, struck the door vigorous!}- with her 
 sabot three times ; upon which the men had ignomin- 
 iously fled. Gucnn, groping, touched the door-knob, 
 and with one last effort, dizzy, faint, trembling with 
 fatigue and over-exertion, but triumphant, fell upon 
 the floor of the abandoned studio. 
 
 Meanwhile the three had reached the familiar private 
 room behind the orange light. 
 
 " What did you see?" asked Hob l, eager to descant 
 upon the experience, now that he felt safe. 
 
 "A damned black body swinging from the beam," 
 answered Kodellec gruffly. 
 
 " A blue face with fiery ej es," said Nives. 
 
 " I saw bones and a brimstone light, and heard a 
 horrible choking," related Hoel. 
 
 26
 
 402 GUENN. 
 
 The three men crossed themselves. With every rep 
 etition, the figure grew more ghastly and gruesome. 
 
 "Never do I go there again on any such errand," 
 said Hoe l. 
 
 " Nor I either," added Nives. 
 
 Then we 11 have to catch him somewhere else ; 
 for have him I will, before I m through," and Rodellec 
 swore a mighty oath. 
 
 When Hamor returned with Staunton, they found 
 the garret deserted. They sat by the dying fire, and 
 chatted of pleasant things a whole hour. 
 
 "I am sorry," Ilamor said apologetically. "She 
 really seemed in earnest. I thought, at the time, it was 
 much ado about nothing." 
 
 My dear Ilamor, don t excuse yourself that there s 
 no fighting," returned his friend, smiling. "I assure 
 you, I like it better as it is." 
 
 " But to drag you from Mrs. Staunton in this way, 
 and frighten her out of her senses into the bargain, for 
 she saw you take your pistol." 
 
 " The Goths and Vandals have been here, neverthe 
 less," exclaimed Staunton quickly, discovering the hole 
 in the charcoal-sketch ; " and see ! " picking up a frag 
 ment of the vase, and finally fishing out of the ashes 
 the charred remains of the Sonnets, and extending 
 them with the tongs towards their owner. 
 
 " And tired of waiting, or thirsting for grog, with 
 drew after these small ravages," Hamor said contemp 
 tuously. " Con sequent!} their state of mind couldn t 
 have been very serious in the first place. Guenn ex 
 aggerated abominably. She really gave me quite a 
 chill. I am ashamed to offer 3-011 no better entertain 
 ment." 
 
 " And I am very glad. Still, I think 3-011 d better
 
 GUENN. 403 
 
 come along now when I go," Staunton said softly. " I 
 don t think Rodellec likes 3-011 much, you know, Hamor." 
 
 " Oh, a little spite no doubt," Hamor replied care 
 lessly. " It amounts to nothing." 
 
 Guenn had not dared to rest many minutes prostrate 
 upon the floor. She knew that she rnust be at home 
 before her father should come, sullen and suspicious, 
 thrusting a candle before her eyes, sniffling angrily 
 and muttering, to find her seemingly lost in profound 
 sleep. 
 
 She went by the shortest path through the fields, but 
 her overwrought body would scarcely support her. 
 Often she thought she must fall by the way. As she 
 came into the house and dropped upon a bench, Nannie 
 sat leaning his elbows on the table, his luminous ej es 
 staring at her. She pulled feebly at her coiffe and 
 apron, knowing that she must hurry, yet feeling half- 
 dazed and incapable of exertion. 
 
 "Did you do it well?" 
 
 " 1 don t know," she answered wearily, " whether it 
 was well or ill ; but he is safe the picture too." 
 
 "Tell me," he said peremptorily. 
 
 She related the bare facts in the simplest way. Her 
 excitement was over. She was almost too tired to be 
 glad. 
 
 He listened with close attention ; then cross-examined 
 her on some points, a singular expression on his face. 
 
 Guenn staggered across the room, and drank a cup 
 of milk. She looked deathly pale, and held on to the 
 furniture as she walked. 
 
 " You d better go to bed," the bo}- said brusquely. 
 
 " I m going. Xannic, do you know," she began, " I 
 wish you would let me tell monsieur. I wish you d let 
 me tell him how often you have saved him. I wish 
 3 r ou d let me tell him how you find out everything. I
 
 404 GUENN. 
 
 wish he knew that nobody nobody is so clever as 
 you, that nobody is so splendid and so good." 
 
 " It s enough that he has n t a nice little pistol-ball 
 in his heart, and a big gash across his throat, and a 
 smashed head," returned the boy. " AVhat s the use 
 of telling all you know? It 01113 spoils the fun next 
 time." 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. 
 
 "I tell you I enjoj it more this way," he continued 
 impatiently. Then, with bitterness : "You d better 
 let a fellow, built like me, enjoy what he can his own 
 way." 
 
 Guenn sighed deeply. " You know best, Nannie, of 
 course," she said with great gentleness. " Good-night." 
 
 " Wait, Guenn," lie rejoined abruptly. " See here, 
 } ou took up that big picture and squeezed it through 
 that door?" 
 
 "Why, yes. I told }"ou, Nannie," with weary 
 indifference. 
 
 " You made them think } T ou were old Morot, swing 
 ing on his beam, you?" with his most sardonic grin, 
 for this was surety his own special domain. 
 
 " Yes," she answered wonderingly. 
 
 "You hung there by your two wrists, from that high 
 beam, } ou?" 
 
 " Why yes, Nannie. There was nothing else to do, 
 was there ? " 
 
 The boy stretched out his long pnny arms, and re 
 garded them with unutterable scorn. A spasm of 
 intense longing shot into his pallid face, stormy rebel 
 lion of his spirit against the weak, misshapen body which 
 imprisoned it. Then resuming his mask, supporting his 
 head with his crooked hands again, half closing his 
 clever eyes, "It was not bad for a girl," said the 
 cripple dryly.
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 HEN inadame of the 
 Vo3 - ageurs had mild 
 ly intimated to Ha- 
 mor, the evening of 
 his arrival in Plouvenec, that 
 madame the postmistress was 
 apt to be distraite, she did her 
 no injustice. The painters in 
 deed were wont to use stronger 
 expressions to indicate her peculiarities. 
 
 " It s odd how types reproduce themselves," Hamor 
 reflected the first time he saw her. "That gaunt, ab 
 sent-minded woman has peered over her spectacles at me 
 in Maine, Massachusetts, and California. Now I behold 
 her here. She may speak French as much as she 
 likes," he confided one day to Staunton, " but I verily
 
 406 GUENN. 
 
 believe she is the identical postmistress who said to me 
 once, in a little New England village : Here, Mr. Ha- 
 mor, you ve got a long letter from 3*0111 cousin Eliza 
 beth. As far as I can make out, she and her folks 
 are tol able smart. " She was also telegraph-operator, 
 slowly spelling out your dispatches with flattering inter 
 est, and looking at you reproachfully if you happened to 
 prefer not to telegraph in Erench. Her distribution of 
 letters was characterized by such inconceivable irregu 
 larity and delay, that the painters at first swore roundly, 
 then remonstrated, then accepted the inevitable with the 
 patience of Mussulmans, opening letters five days late 
 without a murmur, and stoically enduring whatever 
 blows of fate were dealt them by the Plouvenec post. 
 
 But a day came when Hamor refused to be a philos 
 opher. He had put the last touches on the great picture. 
 It was finished. It was dry. It was his masterpiece. 
 He would sit before it silent and absorbed, studying it 
 critically an hour at a time. Einally he began to pre 
 pare the box, in which it was to go to Paris to meet 
 its fate. 
 
 Guenn watched these last rites with deep excitement. 
 Her heart was tremulous with rich, full memories. It 
 was as if the most of her own life were being nailed up 
 in that great case. Full of sorrow to lose the past, full 
 of joy in his delight that he had finished his best work, 
 she felt that she was bidding farewell to a friend in 
 that familiar canvas. How she loved it, every inch ! 
 On such a day, he had begun sketching with great 
 nervous strokes. He was impatient and dissatisfied, 
 she remembered, and no one spoke, feeling his mood. 
 Then it grew clearer in his mind. He made all those 
 ebauches. At last he looked up and smiled, and they 
 talked again and were glad. And the days he painted
 
 GUENN. 407 
 
 the fortress, how pleasant those were. How Nannie 
 chanted and sang ! And the beautiful week at the 
 islands, the most beautiful week in all her life ! She 
 recalled ever}* moment of it, the lovely fresh morn 
 ings, the roll of the breakers, the wind on her cheek, 
 the kindness and laughter, the services in the little 
 chapel, the cure s troubled eyes, he was so distressed 
 then about poor Jean, the good cure, the death-bed 
 scene, with Hamor s face in the doorway, and the little 
 hands nestling in her neck, the storm and the shrill 
 wailing of the women. Ah yes, all that was in the 
 picture, and more ! 
 
 Then the quiet da}*s since, when he had worked so 
 long and patiently on some little thing, her coiffe, 
 her wrist ; and she sat so still, so blessed, watching his 
 beautiful face. And that terrible night she thought 
 she should go mad before she could induce him to leave, 
 and she had to drop the precious thing down from 
 that ugly beam. It seemed like sacrilege to her ; but 
 he had been so kind the next morning, and never re 
 proached her, although it had fallen on its dear face. 
 He had only smiled and wondered what possessed her 
 to put it in there, when the woodhouse would have 
 been easier. He never quite believed that there had 
 been any danger that night, and she had never liked 
 to tell him how it all was, and explain to him what she 
 had done. Why should she, indeed, since he and the 
 picture were safe? But that night, too, was in the 
 picture, that night and more! 
 
 Ah, if the fine people in the Salon should know all, 
 know that that Breton girl loves that painting more 
 than her life, and in a boat like that had first sculled 
 him across the ferry, when he had been gentle and 
 kind, and she so rough and hateful she was ashamed to
 
 408 GUENN. 
 
 remember it now ! She had grown more decent since, 
 had learned how to help him, had helped him, thanks 
 to Our Lady and All Saints, in what he loved best! 
 But she was glad they would never know. It was her 
 secret and his. The picture to them would be only a 
 girl sculling with a big oar. The_y would talk about its 
 color and its drawing, its action, its water, its technique. 
 So much she knew now. She had heard the words 
 often enough. But the}* would never dream that her 
 whole past was in it, her whole soul, the best strength 
 of her life, the best thoughts of her brain, the best love 
 of her heart, since the day it was begun. She gave 
 a violent sob, and burst into tears. 
 
 The carpenter had driven the last nail and gone. 
 Hamor was kneeling, addressing the box. He was in 
 high spirits. Even tears could not annoy him to-day. 
 " Don t drown me, Guenn," he said pleasantly. 
 
 " I don t mean to be silly," she answered apologeti 
 cally, smiling at him through her tears. "I feel so 
 strange, monsieur. I should think I was drowning my 
 self. They say you remember then everything 3-011 
 ever did in all your life. That s what I was doing, 
 remembering and remembering. It seems as if some- 
 bod} was dead in that box." 
 
 " If 3 r ou talk like that, I shall conclude that 3~ou like 
 the picture better than the painter," he said with a kind 
 smile. "But I know what 3-011 mean. It is a sensa 
 tion one often has Avhen one comes to the end of an3 - 
 thing. I feel more or less so nvvself." Then, laying 
 down his brush and rising, he said, smiling a little still 
 but speaking seriousl}* : "Guenn, it seems a fitting 
 moment, here over the solemn box, to tell you that I 
 have never thanked 3-011 half enough for 3*our help. 
 I have been quite touched b} r 3 our faithfulness and
 
 GUENN. 409 
 
 patience. I never saw airy-thing like it. Upon my 
 word, } ou are as loj^al as a soldier, as your friend Victor 
 himself." 
 
 " O monsieur, O monsieur ! " stammered Guenn, radi 
 ant under his praise. 
 
 "Now I don t intend to make a speech. I only 
 want to tell you simply that you have kept our compact 
 like a man." 
 
 "Like a Breton!" suggested Guenn with a ring in 
 her voice, smiling brilliantly, her eyes a little wet. 
 
 " Like a Breton, if you will, child ; and some day I 
 shall reward you like a painter ! " 
 
 "O monsieur, don t speak of reward. I never 
 was so happy. I never half lived until I learned to 
 care for the picture." 
 
 "Well, it is just beginning its career. I shall have 
 all its experiences to tell you when I come back from 
 the Salon. So don t mourn as if it were dead, for on 
 the contrar}* it is just born. I am praying with all my 
 heart that the infant may prove veiy much alive, and 
 run its course with vigor." 
 
 She laughed brightly. 
 
 "And Guenn, I think, since I ve concluded to 
 stay here through the summer, I may do something, 
 after all, with that bridal train I spoke of once in the 
 Beusec churchyard. Your expression suggested it to 
 me just now. Ros} and modest and proud and j-oung," 
 he murmured to himself, " not fierce and defiant as at 
 first," -suddenly studying her as closely as if he 
 had never seen her before. After a pause he resumed 
 lighth , "Why, with all of the girls in your train, 
 Guenn, you would be so proud you would care more 
 for that picture than for this." 
 
 " Oh no, monsieur, I shall never love a picture again. 
 I shall never be so proud," she sighed softly.
 
 410 GUENN. 
 
 " "Well, well, please yourself; only if 3-011 could 
 prepare the bridal costume I should be much obliged. 
 Could n t you go over to Quimper? You know the 
 heavy silver embroideries I like ; and if 3*ou could find 
 an old jacket, a genuine one, " 
 
 " Indeed I can," she said with alacrity. " I will go 
 over this week with Andre." 
 
 " And, Guenn, I must get at Thymert again. I could 
 finish him without another sitting, but I much prefer 
 one. The good man is wild, like 3*011 before I tamed 
 3 ou. He has about as much conception of posing as 
 a Numidian lion." 
 
 "Yes, we must have him again," she agreed, nodding 
 seriously. " Oh, he is tame enough for that, monsieur. 
 Only in the winter he was so sad about poor Jean." 
 
 " By the wa3 , I ve not shown 3-011 this, have I?" 
 turning a small picture that stood face towards the 
 wall, and holding it towards her. " I did it 3-esterda3 r , 
 out of mere caprice." 
 
 It was Herve Rodellec who scowled fiercely at his 
 daughter. 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed, putting up her hands with a 
 little repelling gesture. 
 
 "Good head the man has, interesting study. I ve 
 watched him off and on a long time, and have suc 
 ceeded fairty well, I think, with the sketch." 
 
 Guenn said nothing onby stared, and scowled back 
 heartily at the scowling face. 
 
 "You are wondering why I want him? Simply 
 because it s a head that amuses me ; and 3-011 know 
 we don t care for amiability in art. He s the last of 
 the triumvirate I set my heart upon the day I came to 
 Plouvenec. You are the first, girl as 3 ou are. I 
 have you all in my clutches." Chattering and smiling, 
 he put the picture back.
 
 GUENN. 411 
 
 " Guenn, I will leave }-ou my keys, so that you can 
 come in and look after these two pictures if it should 
 be necessary. I am going to Lorient for three or four 
 da} T s. Morot wants me to sail over with him to the 
 regatta. In the mean time, if you can go to Quimper and 
 look up your bridal costume, we can begin our Pro 
 cession Monday. We 11 have Jeanne and Victoria and 
 Lena, half Plouvenec in fact. Alain as bridegroom, 
 how would you like Alain as bridegroom, Guenn?" 
 significantly. 
 
 "Very much, in a painting," she answered mis 
 chievously. 
 
 She could never love the new picture as she did the 
 old friend in the box ; still she was eager to do her best 
 to serve Hamor s least wish, and the thought of going 
 to Quimper in search of the costume was in itself at 
 tractive to her energetic nature. September seemed 
 very far distant. There are so many, man}- days, she 
 thought, between March and September. Then he had 
 changed his mind in regard to leaving Plouvenec once. 
 Why might he not change it again? She ceased to 
 consider the possibility of existing without him. She 
 lived in the glorious present ; and in spite of her strange 
 grief at the loss of the painting, it was a happy Guenn 
 who stood on the qua} in the sunshine the next morn 
 ing, laughing and jesting with the men as each boat 
 set sail for Lorient. She felt a little odd as young 
 Morot s boat put off, and Hamor waved his hat with a 
 cheery au revoir. Plouvenec seemed empt} r without his 
 smile that day. Still she went brightly to work, and 
 was busy for madame at the inn, and for Monsieur 
 Morot, all Wednesday and Thursday. 
 
 Friday she drove over to Quimper on the box with 
 old Andre", who joked incessantly about her lost locks,
 
 412 GUENN. 
 
 and her supposed infatuation with the handsome Merle 
 sailor. Saturday she was to see Hamor again, possi 
 bly, indeed, that ver}- evening, she thought with a 
 great heart-throb, as they drove out of Quimper. Three 
 long da} - s since she had seen him ! But how he would 
 smile ! How beautiful his voice would sound. And he 
 would be pleased with the bridal costume. He would 
 tell her she was a help to him, and a clever girl to 
 choose so well. And when he would see her in it, his 
 face would be like sunshine shining down into her heart. 
 So at dusk perched on the box of the red and yellow 
 omnibus, jostling against old Andre, but half hearing 
 his familiar jokes, her happ}* face turned towards Plou- 
 venec she was coming to meet her painter. 
 
 As the omnibus left Quimper, Morot s boat glided 
 softby up to its landing on the Plouvenec qua} . Hamor, 
 with the feeling that he had been absent a long time, 
 walked directly to the Voyageurs and asked for his 
 letters. 
 
 "There is a dispatch, monsieur," madam e announced. 
 " It came this morning. I was sorry not to be able to 
 forward it, but I did not know whether monsieur was on 
 land or sea." 
 
 " Oh, that was quite right," began Ilamor, in his po 
 litest French. Tearing open the envelope, he instantly 
 relapsed into marrowy English. 
 
 " The devil ! " he exclaimed, with a frown. 
 
 " I hope monsieur has no bad news." 
 
 Hamor reflected a moment. " I don t know," he 
 said; " there may be time. Madame, I am sure you 
 are a woman to help a man in an emergency. The 
 emergency is here ; I m the man." 
 
 " What does monsieur wish? " said madame calml}*. 
 
 Hamor looked at his watch. " I want a horse that
 
 GUENN. 413 
 
 can do a four hours drive in two hours ; I want a dri 
 ver who is not a fool to take me to catch the night train 
 to Rennes ; I want a few necessary things put into my 
 valise ; I want Mr. Staunton here in five minutes ; and 
 I want some dinner ready as soon as I return from the 
 post-office, where, whether I do or do not find a miss 
 ing letter, I have every intention of murdering your 
 postmistress." 
 
 " Very good," responded madame imperturbably ; 
 " monsieur will find everything to his satisfaction." 
 
 Hamor flew out of the house, mechanically muttering 
 the words of the dispatch : 
 
 " Why no answer to Sunday s letter ! R. impatient. Come 
 to-day, or lose everything." 
 
 " Give me my letter, madame, if you please," he 
 said sternly, bursting into the postmistress s sanctum. 
 
 " Monsieur has no letter. Monsieur mistakes ; mon 
 sieur should remain outside, at the window." 
 
 " I have a letter which ought to have been delivered 
 last Tuesday. I will trouble you for it. I will remain 
 outside next time. Hamor is the name, H-A-M-O-R." 
 
 " I know perfectly, monsieur," she replied rebuk- 
 ingly ; then slowly examined various piles of envelopes, 
 which la}- in their pigeon-holes beneath the letters W, 
 S, and T, an} - thing but H. Presently she looked 
 twice at an envelope, then scrutinizingly at the 3 oung 
 man. 
 
 " Give me that one," he said abruptly. 
 
 " But it does not belong to monsieur. I have re 
 garded it all the week. It belongs to Monsieur Ham 
 mond, who has gone to Nevin, and may return any day. 
 I am keeping it for him." 
 
 " Fiend of a disguised Yankee," muttered Hamor. 
 " Let me look at it," he said, controlling his impatience ;
 
 414 GUENN. 
 
 "our foreign handwriting, you know," reaching out 
 adroitly and snatching the letter. 
 
 "Monsieur has reason," she answered plaintively; 
 " the writing so English can well deranger the most " 
 
 But Hamor was gone. It ran hastily to this effect : 
 
 " Your picture tremendous hit. R. insists upon seeing you. 
 Can sell it for you a dozen times, if you like, already. He is here 
 only a few days now ; wants you to come on without delay ; 
 seems to have a plan in view about Rome. If so, your star 
 is in the ascendant. Congratulations. Telegraph answer, by all 
 means. You know R. simply hates to be kept waiting." 
 
 " You see there is no choice," he said to Staunton, 
 who was "waiting for him, thrusting the letter into his 
 hand ; " go I must. I must ask you to pay any stray 
 bills that may be handed in, and have the two pictures 
 in the atelier packed off to my Paris address. And say 
 good-by to everybody for me, will you, in}- dear fellow? 
 I don t enjoy leaving in this fashion, upon my word. 
 Let me swallow a mouthful of dinner, as I ve had noth 
 ing on the boat since breakfast. Ah, there are so many 
 people I would like to see again ! Thymert, for one ; 
 and, Stannton, do look after Guerin. She s as proud 
 as Lucifer, and will resent my going without a special 
 farewell. But what can I do? I can t wait to hunt her 
 up. If she can be produced suddenly " 
 
 "Did monsieur speak of Guenn Rodellec?" inter 
 posed madame s tranquil voice. " She has not re 
 turned from Quimper. Does monsieur wish to leave 
 any message or directions to her? " 
 
 " Ah ! thanks, mad.ime. Tell her I thought of her, 
 and was soriy not to say good-by, and that I 11 send 
 her something pretty from Paris, and shall be back 
 some day. Oh, say anything you like that s kind, ma- 
 dame. Explain how it was. You know how."
 
 GUENN. 415 
 
 " I will attend to it," she replied calmly, as if he 
 had ordered roast chicken. "Monsieur s carriage is 
 at the door. It is the best horse in Plouvenec, and 
 the driver is Andre s brother. Monsieur should be 
 content." 
 
 " Madame, you are worth your weight in gold." 
 
 " Which would be a handsome fortune," she replied 
 placidly. 
 
 Although Ham or had been back but twenty minutes, 
 the news had quickly spread that he was going with 
 Andre s brother, and the fastest horse in the place, to 
 catch the night train to Rennes. As he came out the 
 familiar door, giving Staunton his last injunctions, 
 thanking rnadame, and shaking hands right and left, 
 it seemed as if nearly every well-known face in Plou 
 venec was there. The monarchical sippers of absinthe 
 and vermouth rose from their little tables to wish him 
 bon voj-age. The judge smiled largely, and would have 
 made a speech if Hamor had not good-humoredly shaken 
 him off. All the hotel people stood on the pavement to 
 see him go. The carpenter, with tears in his ej es, called 
 down St. Herve s blessing upon him. Meurice s stiff 
 mouth twitched eloquently. Mother Nives and Mother 
 Quaper roared their good wishes in the face of the hand 
 some gars, and little Jeanne sobbed aloud as he bade 
 her good-by. "Tell Guenn how it was. Tell her I 
 thought of her." 
 
 " It really touches me." he said to Mrs. Staunton, 
 who stood by the chaise, " this whole-souled kind 
 ness, this simplicity of demonstration. I never cared 
 for a place in all my life as I care for Plouvenec. I shall 
 surely come again, surely." 
 
 " Like good King Arthur," said the little Danish 
 artist smilingly. " As they say here, King Arthur will
 
 416 GUENN. 
 
 surety return. Eveiy thing good must indeed return to 
 Brittany, it is so pleasant here." 
 
 " That sounds like Nannie Rodellec. I wish he d 
 appear. lie s alwa3"S turning up suddenby. Where is 
 the boy ? " 
 
 The bo}- lay on his face on the ground, in a shadow 
 of the common, his fingers in his ears. His breast 
 was torn with sobs. He would not see Hamor go. He 
 would not say good-b} . His face was pressed to the 
 cold earth, and he wept bitterly. 
 
 As Plouvenec seemed to be already fading into a dim 
 perspective, Hamor grew sentimental, and regarded it 
 wistfully. His face wore a charming look of tender retro 
 spection, as the light from the Voyageurs windows shone 
 out for the last time, and the people crowded around 
 to bid him farewell. The spacious, dusk}- common, the 
 low, frowning battlements, the gleam of water beyond, 
 and the row of lights on the other shore, were already- a 
 picture which he beheld lovingly, in the long vistas of 
 inemoiy. Hamor shook hands again with Staunton 
 and his wife. " I m glad I may see }~ou both at 
 the Salon," he said. "That gives me one pang the 
 less." Turning brightlj*, " Good-lrv, madame," he said. 
 " Thanks for every thing. I shall certainly come again 
 some day." 
 
 " Monsieur will be alwa3 r s welcome at the Voyageurs. 
 The Voyageurs will guard an amiable souvenir of mon 
 sieur until he returns." The noble caryatid was up 
 holding her portals, precisely as he had seen her six 
 months before. 
 
 " And madame, you who never forget anything, let 
 me leave particularly with 3-011 my kindest, most cordial 
 messages for Th3 mert and Guenn Rodellec. Awkward 
 enough, that the child is not here."
 
 GUENN. 417 
 
 "Very awkward, monsieur," echoed madame calmly. 
 " I must tell her myself," reflected the busy brain, be 
 hind the imperturbable forehead. "I must manage 
 Jeanne and the women." 
 
 " Time s up, m sieur," said the driver. 
 
 " Upon my word, it s inhuman to be swept off by 
 fate in this fashion," Ilamor exclaimed laughingly. 
 4 Confound the postmistress and her knavish tricks ! " 
 
 " Oh, }-ou should n t complain. You are going where 
 gloiy awaits } ou," Staunton returned pleasantly. 
 
 "There is a certain compensation," Hamor began, 
 but the driver ci acked his whip. Off went the old-fash 
 ioned Breton chaise. "Be sure and say good-by to 
 Guenn Rodcllec," shouted Ilamor at the very last. 
 
 "Adieu, monsieur," cried the familiar voices; and 
 amid showers of blessings, invoking Our Lady of 
 the Lannions, St. Hcrvc, St. Jean de la Roche, St. 
 Anne d Auray, and a score of benign Breton saints, 
 from the large group, and a shower of curses from a 
 small group of two on the common, Everett Harnor left 
 Plouvenec. 
 
 As the chaise went swiftly over the dark roads, be 
 tween the granite walls and the fosses, the old omnibus 
 was rolling slowly along towards the village ; and just 
 as Hamor stretched himself out comfortably in the coupe 
 he had secured for his exclusive occupanc} r , Guenn, her 
 bridal finery under her arm, sprang lightly down from 
 the high box, thanked Andre heartily in her sweet, 
 glad voice, and stamping her feet a little, " to find her 
 self" after the drive, looked around with the rapturous 
 hope that she might hear Hamor s pleasant laugh, or 
 perceive the odor of his cigarette, or even see him saun 
 tering across the common. There were some women at 
 a little distance. She went towards them swift!}-. 
 
 27
 
 418 GUENN. 
 
 Mother Nives and Mother Quaper were standing amica 
 bly together. They stared at her in silence. 
 
 " What a joke," cried Guenn in high spirits. " Has 
 the sky fallen ? You two turtle-doves ! Deary me, what 
 wonders happen when one makes a voyage to Quim- 
 per!" Her pretty laugh rang over the common. Nan 
 nie, hearing it, grovelled in the dust. Her irony met 
 with no countercharge. 
 
 " Good-night, Guenn," muttered Mother Nives, shuf 
 fling off in one direction. " Good-night, Guenn," said 
 Mother Quaper, scuffling off in the other. 
 
 " Weil, I never ! " exclaimed the girl merrily. Surely 
 she had caught a glimpse of Jeanne, coining along. 
 Jeanne must have seen her, but the provoking girl had 
 run off and hidden somewhere. It was a pity, for she 
 would know whether monsieur had come home or not. 
 Still, Guenn did not intend to run after her. " I will go 
 into the Voyageurs. Madame has a head on her shoul 
 ders. As for running after Jeanne Ronan, I won t! 
 It is Jeanne s place to run after me." She crossed the 
 common quickly towards the cheerful light of the inn. 
 Under the great oak, not far from the door of the Voy 
 ageurs, stood two men. Guenn came suddenty upon 
 them. 
 
 " Well," sneered her father, standing directly in her 
 path, "so your painter-chap has sneaked off and left 
 you." 
 
 Guenn looked at him with her fearless eyes and 
 laughed. She wore her Sundaj- gown, her best ker 
 chief and coiffe, the lace with the pretty pattei n, and 
 all the finery which she had bought with her hair for 
 the Nevin Pardon. " When one goes to the cit3" on an 
 errand for Monsieur Hamor, one must be fit to be 
 seen," she had reasoned.
 
 GUENN. 419 
 
 " Wiry should n t he go where ho pleases and do what 
 he likes ? " she answered lightly, trying to pass. 
 
 Rodellec stood in her way, scowling. " Six months 
 here, and I did n t spoil his grin. It s your fault, I 
 suspect, minx ! " 
 
 " The angels guard him," said Guenn proudly. 
 
 "Angels or devils, it s something, sure enough," 
 began Nives. " No fellow ever deserved a good kniv- 
 ing more than he ; but 3-011 can t light ghosts, and that s 
 the end of it," crossing himself. 
 
 Guenn only laughed. 
 
 Rodellec glared at her resentfully. " If I could have 
 borrowed a horse as fast as his, if I d had my pistol, 
 if there had n t been such a crowd, if I d known it 
 before, " 
 
 Guenn stood in the full light of the windows, unsus 
 pecting, smiling, tossing her head, patting her great 
 package confidentially, impatient to be off, yet anxious 
 not to show the white feather. The March wind had 
 brought the most vivid color to her cheeks and lips. 
 She never had looked more spirited and beautiful. 
 
 Young Nives stared at her and groaned aloud. " He 
 went off like a prince," he snarled, " the people all 
 bowing and scraping, my lord, the damned painter, lean 
 ing out and waving his hand, so gracious and grinny." 
 
 She came with a great bound towards him, and seized 
 his arm roughly. "What s that }-ou sa} ?" she 
 screamed. 
 
 "That he is gone, you fool," sneered Rodellec. 
 
 " Yes, I know, to the regatta to Lorient," she 
 said hoarsely. 
 
 "To Paris, to the devil, to hell-fire and brimstone, 
 if I had my way. But gone he is, gone forever, your 
 long-legged, mealy-mouthed painter."
 
 420 GUENN. 
 
 She staggered as if she would fall ; then rallied, stepped 
 back and faced him superbly, her face white as death. 
 " You lie," she cried fiercely. "You hate him. You 
 are a coward and a murderer. You have lied all your 
 life. You are lying now in your wicked throat." 
 
 Madame of the Voyageurs had crossed unnoticed from 
 her door. 
 
 "God forgive 3^011, Ilcrve Rodellec," she said; "I 
 never will, here or hereafter. Guenn ! " in a voice no 
 one had ever heard from madame. 
 
 " Is it true? " demanded Guenn, seizing her wrists. 
 " You are not a liar." 
 
 " Come with me, Guenn ; these men are cruel to 3*011. 
 I must talk with you. Come." 
 
 Is it true ? " Her agonized eyes searched mad- 
 ame s face, and read its fatal answer. 
 
 Without a look at one of them, she was gone. Like 
 an arrow she sped through the darkness. Madame, in 
 deepest anxiety, followed her, and saw her take the road 
 to the studio. Arriving a few minutes later, she ob 
 served that Guenn had lighted the lamp. Her shadow, 
 as she rapidly paced the long garret, fell on the curtains 
 of the three dormer-windows. 
 
 "It is well so," reasoned madame, standing down in 
 the court ; " she will wear herself out in her fierce sorrow. 
 She will grow tired ; and when the tears come she will 
 be safe. She is proud ; she will learn to bear it. But 
 she is better alone, to fight it out herself. Such hearts 
 in pain must be left alone. Poor Guenn ! Poor little 
 Guenn ! " 
 
 It was perfectly dark, and no one was there except 
 the one person whom madame trusted. She took out 
 her handkerchief and repeatedly wiped her eyes. Sev 
 eral times that night she stole round to the atelier,
 
 GUENN. 421 
 
 and found the light still burning. " It is well," she 
 thought. " She will grow wean . She will soften there ; 
 her memories of the handsome gars will make the tears 
 come." 
 
 But Guenn only remained a few minutes in the studio. 
 She had rushed in with the mad hope of finding him. 
 There was his easel, his palette, his camp-stool, as he 
 had left them. Up and down, down and up, she flew, 
 trying to realize what had befallen her. The wind 
 shook the windows. The flame of the lamp streamed 
 up in the sudden gust. Ashes were strewn about the 
 hearth. His chair was pushed carelessly aside. Me 
 chanically she turned down the wick, brushed the hearth, 
 moved the chair back to its place ; then started, with a 
 kind of incredulous horror in her face, and paced the 
 room again. There were the two pictures : she turned 
 them with the familiar motion. Thymert, a yearning 
 sorrow in his brave eyes, mourned on the sands b} the 
 dead body of a woman. Rodellec s evil glance haunted 
 her with a silent curse. She could not stay where he 
 was ! No, no, she must go out into the night, an} - 
 where, anywhere awa} from that cruel face. But she 
 must lock the door. Monsieur had said she was to 
 take care of the two pictures, monsieur, with his 
 laughing 63-68 and tender voice, and his head thrown 
 back as he smoked, the beautiful high head she saw 
 always and everywhere. She saw it indeed now, and 
 he was smiling down upon her. u Guenn," he was 
 saying softly, " Guenn." 
 
 Gone? Where was he gone? Why was he gone? 
 She had but half heard, half understood. Who said he 
 would never come back? Who knew what he would 
 do? Did he not always tell her first? Who dared to 
 know more than she, she who had helped him all
 
 422 GUENN. 
 
 these months, while he was making the great picture ? 
 He and she loved their picture. But she could not 
 stay here with that evil face, unless the beautiful face 
 was there too, so that she could forget the other. 
 The beautiful face was gone, they said. It was the 
 ugly, sneering lips that had said it. They were moving 
 now and muttering, " Gone forever forever gone ; " 
 and the pitiless eyes sought hers with a mocking stare. 
 " I must go where I can breathe," she gasped, " out 
 in the night, awa} from those e} es, anywhere. My 
 head is so hot! I am forgetting something. Ah, it 
 is to lock the door, so that when monsieur comes whist 
 ling gayly up the stairway to-morrow morning, he will 
 smile to find all safe." She locked the door and the 
 gate. She put his keys in her pocket. She had 
 touched them with many a furtive caress during the 
 long day at Quimper, proud of his trust, thankful that 
 her hand could rest where his dear hand rested daily. 
 In her keeping were his treasures. She was loyal, like 
 Victor, he had said. To-morrow, when he would take 
 his keys, he would but no! he was gone, "gone 
 forever," the cruel mouth had sneered. There would 
 never be any to-morrow. There was only a long 
 yesterda}-. 
 
 Past the lilac-bushes, by the faded-gray house, through 
 the archway where she had waited for him all the frosty 
 winter mornings, down the dim road between the gar 
 dens, she blindly rushed. There were dark shapes 
 reaching out towards her over the walls. She made her 
 little reverence. "Shapes," she said politely, "lam 
 not afraid of you, if you have no face. I am Guenn 
 Rodellec, who was never afraid. Everybody in Plouve- 
 nec knows me." Her voice sounded so strange, she 
 hurried on to get rid of it, the shapes after her. Over
 
 GUENN. 423 
 
 the wall they leaned, crowding against one another ; and, 
 
 Holy Mother ! they all had faces, and always the 
 same evil face, and always saying, " Gone forever !" 
 witli a sneer and an oath ! She ran still faster. " There 
 is something I must find," she thought. " I cannot 
 remember, because nvy head is so hot. Ah, it is the 
 beautiful face. I almost find it, but it turns awa} r ." 
 
 She reached the sands. A little gray bird seemed to 
 be fluttering round her head, but when she tried to 
 catch it, it vanished. " Little gray bird, I know }*ou," 
 she said gently. " I love you. You will hide me from 
 the wicked face. You will help me find the beautiful 
 one. I would like to find it, because it smiles all 
 day long, and warms me like the sunshine. It is cold 
 here, only my head is hot. If my head aches I shall 
 not look pretty when I pose for Monsieur Hamor to 
 morrow. Remain beautiful for me. That is what he 
 said to me that day." 
 
 The winds spoke with a thousand voices. The 
 breakers fell with an incessant moan. "I hear 3*011 
 all," she said smiling, and stretching out her arms 
 towards the stormy sea. " I am not afraid of you. 
 
 1 am only afraid of one face, of one face in all the 
 world. I don t see it now. The little gray bird is 
 keeping it away. Oh, don t beg so hard to be buried, 
 poor drowned folk. You make me sad. I would help 
 you if I could. I would lay you all in the churchyard. 
 Oh, I hear you a soul on every wave, mothers, chil 
 dren, brothers, sisters, all seeking each other ; and the 
 lovers, the poor lovers. Did you talk so to Yvonne? 
 For this is the way she came when her painter went 
 away. I wonder if her poor head was hot. I must 
 cool mine, or I shall not be fresh and pretty for monsieur 
 to-morrow, when he comes home from Lorient. She
 
 424 GUENN. 
 
 ran across the third beach, poor Yvonne, as I am run 
 ning now. She was running away from something, 
 running to find something. Why, so am I. What is 
 it I am running from? What is it I am trying to find? 
 I cannot remember, until my head is cool again. 
 Yvonne cut off her pretty hair. Ugh, how cold the 
 scissors felt ! It was long brown hair. It reached 
 down to her knees. She wrapped it in paper, and gave 
 it to old Andre to sell for her in Quimper, because, are 
 3 ou listening waves ? you talk so much yourselves A*OU 
 will never be able to hear me, because she had no pretty 
 clothes to wear at the Nevin Pardon. And when she 
 danced, and all the world saw, he turned away his face, 
 he turned away his face, he turned away his face ! 
 Then Yvonne s heart broke, and she threw herself down 
 from this cliff, and her soul is beating on a wave every 
 night against the rocks, just where the sun shines morn 
 ings and hurts your eyes, like something I saw once. 
 I forget what, because my head aches. Yvonne ! 
 Yvonne!" she cried. "But that was Guenn who 
 danced at Nevin, and saw the great tree-tops behind 
 the little houses, and all the faces looking at her, 
 and one face turned away. Guenn was the prettiest 
 dancer in all Cornonaille ; but something broke her 
 heart and she never danced again. Guenn, are you 
 there on a wave ? Guenn, answer me ! Wiry, I am 
 Guenn myself! " She laughed loud and long. 
 
 Laughing still, she climbed the rocks. It was so 
 droll to forget that she was Guenn. Why, she knew 
 Guenn Rodellec perfectly well. Guenn was the girl 
 who sat knitting in this very place ages ago, and the 
 cure of the Lannions, in his long soutane, looked down 
 kindly on her. She promised him something that da}*. 
 His dark eyes were strange and sad, because somebody
 
 GUENN. 425 
 
 was drowned on the sand. But no, that was only a pic 
 ture, Monsieur Ilamor s picture. Nannie was there 
 too, that da}*. Dear Nannie. She must go home now, 
 for she had been gone all da}*, buying a bridal dress in 
 Quimper. She must go home and make some crepes 
 for Nannie ; but first she must remember what she had 
 promised the cure of the Lannions. 
 
 She sat down in the familiar place, her burning head 
 in her hands. The waves were calling her always. 
 She heard Yvonne s voice distinctly : " Guenn, come, 
 Guenn." It would be easy, and the cool foam would 
 ease the pain in her head. But first she must remem 
 ber what she had promised Thymert. It was a pit}* 
 his good kind eyes were sad. lie had stood there, she 
 sat here. Ah yes, these were the words : " If ever I 
 need help, I will come to you, as surely as the winds 
 and waves come to the Lannions." She had given 
 him an honest hand-clasp. - It s a good Breton 
 promise," she had said. 
 
 " Come, Gucnn ! " called Yvonne. 
 
 "I cannot come. I must keep mj- promise. All 
 Plouvenec knows Guenn Eodellec never broke her 
 word," she cried with the old pride. "The recteur 
 and I are Bretons." 
 
 "Help? Yes, I need help. I cannot quite re 
 member why. But the recteur will tell me. lie earned 
 me in his arms when I was a little thing. He has been 
 good to me all my life. I promised to come to him if 
 ever I should feel alone, if ever I should not know 
 where to go or what to do. Ah yes, I do feel unhapp}*, 
 I don t know why. I cannot think why I cry so hard ; 
 but I am unhappy indeed, and alone, and I know no 
 one here except poor Yvonne. All the other voices are 
 strange. If anything should happen, the good cure
 
 426 GUENN. 
 
 said that da}-. Jeanne and Nannie were laughing on 
 the rocks ; Meurije s boat was coming in, all sails 
 spread. It looked like a storm. Well, what happened ? 
 Why am I sobbing? What must I find? Tlrvmert 
 will tell me, and he will see that I keep my word. 
 Yvonne, I am sad, sad as death when I think of you. 
 It is a pity he turned away his face. And your soul 
 on a wave beating against the cliff!" 
 
 Down the rocks she sprang, hearing always the in 
 numerable voices of the souls on the waves, calling 
 each other, calling her, in infinite unrest. " I cannot 
 come. I must keep my promise. Why do you call 
 me so?" she asked reproachfully. "You are Bretons 
 yourselves." 
 
 On she flew over the three beaches, drenched with 
 the spray of the thundering March breakers, past 
 the few late lights of the sleeping village, and round 
 the dusk} Point where she had stood scores of times 
 to wait for the incoming boats. She ran swiftly along 
 the quay, found Meurice s boat, loosened it from its 
 moorings, the great boat manned usually by three 
 sailors and the mousse, set full sail, and put off. My 
 head will feel cooler by the time I reach the Lannions. 
 Ah ! there is the little gray bird on the mainmast. 
 Good ! Then I shall not see the wicked, cruel face." 
 She shuddered. "Gone forever? What is gone forever? 
 Never mind. Thymert will tell me ; Thymert will know. 
 Not another girl in all Plouvenec can sail this boat 
 alone ; but I am strong. Everybodj- says Guenn 
 Rodellec is the strongest girl in Plouvenec. And 
 Meurice s boat indeed knows the way of itself to the 
 Lannions. It used to take me over often enough to 
 monsieur, those beautiful mornings. Ah, 3 es ! monsieur 
 is waiting and smiling; on the rocks. He never once
 
 GUENN. 427 
 
 turned awa} his face on the Lannions. He will look 
 at me again. If he would look at me just once, the 
 pain in my head would stop. And monsieur le recteur 
 knows that I will keep m}* promise, my good Breton 
 promise. It s a promise? said he. It s a prom 
 ise, said I. Meurice s boat was coming in, and it looked 
 like a storm." 
 
 " Ah, mon dieu, que la vie est amere." 
 
 The sweet careless song floated on the gale as 
 Meurice s boat ran wildly before the storm, out on the 
 dark, tumultuous, open bay. " Meurice himself never 
 ran her along like this ! Faster, faster ! " she cried, 
 clapping her hands and laughing. " To the Lannions ! 
 There he will not turn away his face. There, I shall 
 come as surely as the winds and waves. That was my 
 good Breton promise. Faster ! To the Lannions ! 
 To Thymert ! " 
 
 At dawn the next morning Thymert stood at his 
 chapel door. The storm had been severe. He feared 
 bad news of his fisher-folk. Two good boats were out, 
 and his best men. The wind had gone down, the sea 
 was quieter, but sullen and menacing still. He shaded 
 his anxious, loving e}^es with his hand, and looked far 
 over the water in every direction ; then closely at the 
 Lannions with kindly scrutiny, hoping no chimney was 
 down, no cottage unroofed. Last of all he scanned his 
 own little island. 
 
 What was that by the great rock? Something red, 
 something white, something outstretched on the sands. 
 He went striding towards it, seized with a nameless 
 terror. 
 
 "O my God!" he moaned, and knelt by the little 
 figure. It lay face down ; but Thymert did not need
 
 428 GUENN. 
 
 to turn it, to know who had come, as surely as the 
 winds and waves, to the Lannions. He lifted her in 
 his arms, his face fierce and set, and carried her 
 through the chapel porch and laid her on his own bed. 
 He had her now alone. There was no one to stand 
 between them. No one should come near her. There 
 she lay, maidenly and beautiful. He bolted every 
 door. His people sought their priest in vain. All day 
 long the strong man knelt by the dead child, alone with 
 her, with his agon}*, his conscience, and his God. 
 
 Towards evening he rose, and signalled old Brigitte. 
 When she arrived and saw his face she screamed. 
 "Hush," he said, "come here and take care of this 
 little drowned girl. Watch by her until I can send 
 you help." 
 
 " Holy Mother, but it is Guenn ! " 
 
 The lovely eyes were closed ; the mobile, spirited face 
 was at last quiet-; the sweet wild laughter was hushed 
 forever ; the bus}* little hands were crossed tranquilly 
 now over the red kerchief; the loyal, generous heart had 
 ceased to beat. 
 
 "So meek, so still, one would not know the little 
 witch," sobbed old Brigitte. 
 
 The cure leaned over the still, pure face, his anguish 
 smouldering in his deep eyes. He stretched his hands 
 yearningby over her beloved head. Not once had he 
 touched her, except to close her eyes, lay her hands on 
 her breast, and straighten the folds of her gown. 
 Now his prayer, his benediction, and his farewell were 
 silent, as was his sorrow. He turned and left her, 
 with her, all the joy of his life. 
 
 He set sail alone for Plouvenec. Looking neither to 
 the right nor the left, he passed the astonished sailors 
 on the quay, walked straight to the inn, and spoke me-
 
 GUENN. 429 
 
 chanically, his face ashj -pale, a few brief words with 
 marlame. That same night he drove to Quimper, and 
 was closeted many hours with his venerable and sorely 
 perplexed bishop. 
 
 PlouA enec never saw his glowing ardent face again, 
 never again welcomed the old threadbare soutane swing 
 ing along its streets, never felt the beautiful warmth of 
 his smile, the strength of his presence. Never again 
 did his tender, brown eyes rest upon his rude island 
 chapel, his fisher-folk, his Lanuions. 
 
 After Guenn was gone little Jeanne was like a bird 
 mourning for its mate. She pined, and would not be 
 comforted. By the river, while the others talked, she 
 would only bend lower over the water, and sob and 
 weep in a wailing, hopeless waj 7 . At the usine it was 
 even worse, she thought. One grew so tired without 
 Guenn s jokes and drolleries. Jeanne was in fact tired 
 man t y months. Madame at the Voyageurs seemed to 
 know best what to do with her. Madame did not chat 
 ter like the others. 
 
 " When 3-011 are different, something always hap 
 pens. Gucnn was different," Jeanne would say drear 
 ily ; and madame would answer, with a soft look in her 
 eyes : " That is true, Jeanne. She was different, God 
 knows." 
 
 Jeanne married 3 oung because it was expedient, and 
 grew old and wrinkled fast, and toiled unceasingly ; 
 and sent her brave bo} s to sea, to lose them, and mourn 
 for them nights when winds and waves were high. 
 She lived the laborious, patient life which Guenn had 
 regarded as the bitterest fate. Jeanne bore it gently, 
 as it was her nature to bear everything, until her gen 
 tleness settled into permanent stolidity, and her days
 
 430 GUENN. 
 
 became a mechanical round of leaden cares, reaching 
 into loveless, forlorn old age. 
 
 As for madame, she had her house to fill and satisf} r ; 
 but in some way the young girls of Plouvenec grew 
 freer with her, and came to her for advice about ribbons 
 and the most trifling things. However full the Voya- 
 geurs might be, madame never seemed too busy to look 
 carefully in a girl s face, note its shy blush, and hear 
 what she had to say. When an artist, arriving from 
 Paris, was old, and quite unconscious of the pretty wait 
 resses, she rejoiced. To a charming exterior she was 
 apt to remain singularly undemonstrative. "Why 
 should our girls suffer needlessly?" she would demand 
 of the only person honored by her entire confidence. 
 "Life is up-hill work, at best. Wiry must the strangers 
 have everything their own way? Did I make a mistake 
 with that poor child ? Could I have helped her more ? " 
 
 Rodellec mourned conspicuously, and fairly revelled 
 in the luxury of woe. He received the sympathy of 
 many good and unimaginative souls ; and in his maudlin 
 moments his angel-children and his angel-wife formed 
 a convenient group in the background, against which 
 he arranged his suffering and picturesque personality 
 in prominent relief. Active on his boat, unsurpassed 
 in his exploits beneath the glare of the orange light, he 
 remained hale and hearty and fair of skin, man}* long 
 years. Restful sleep blessed his nights, never dis 
 turbed but by an excess of grog ; a good appetite 
 solaced his days. His life was replete with the so-called 
 rewards of virtuous living. If ever among the group of 
 girls singing blithely on the common, evenings, a voice 
 had an innocent, irrepressible, mirthful ring like Guenn s, 
 if ever a little figure, with large brilliant eyes, a lovely 
 face, and a red kerchief neatly pinned, flitted across
 
 GUENN. 431 
 
 his path, he would cross himself piously, wipe his ej es, 
 and ejaculate appropriately, "My angel-child!" Ro- 
 dellec was not of the stuff of which suffering is made. 
 
 Nannie sickened and died. It was perhaps the clev 
 erest thing the boy could do, but Nannie was always 
 clever. He had never had much strength, Ii3 had felt 
 all winter more tired than usual ; and his hold upon life 
 was so feeble that he simply did not know how to live 
 without Guenn, bright, strong Guenn, who only smiled 
 radiantly when he mocked and teased her ; beautiful 
 Guenn, rosy as a peach, fresh as a dew-drop, who sang 
 and danced and laughed and worked, and was alwa} s 
 where she was needed. He did not suffer much, but 
 only wasted away, and the women of the village were 
 good to him. Jeanne s mother took him home at the 
 wise suggestion of madame at the Voyagcurs. Nan 
 nie was quiet and grateful at the last, but obstinately 
 refused to see his father, and nearly went into convul 
 sions when people of the species that persist in judg 
 ing family relationships by the conventional idea of what 
 they ought to be, rather than b}- the bitter truth of what 
 they are, piously pleaded his father s cause with him, 
 and begged to introduce the penitent Rodellec, as a 
 warning and edifying example by his son s death-bed. 
 
 " Sobs and gurgles are cheap," sneered Nannie. 
 "Father or no father, don t talk to me! Bring him 
 along, and I 11 turn my face to the wall. He killed her. 
 He has killed us all. I hate him. And if you want to 
 know the truth, I have hated him all my life." 
 
 Then often he would murmur, his large blue eyes 
 upturned, " I saw it all coming. I told him, I told her. 
 The other one was not to blame. I always knew it would 
 be so," he persisted to the last. "It had to be so. 
 The other one came and went and did not know." The
 
 432 GUENN. 
 
 women repeated his sayings with awe, and added them 
 to their store of ghost stories, miracles, prophecies, 
 and magic. So Nannie won the honors he had most 
 desired during his puny existence, and passed away, if 
 not in an odor of sanctity, in what he at least esteemed 
 far higher, a mystic and supernatural atmosphere. 
 
 Even Guenn s impetuous heart, the loyal heart that 
 beat "so passionately for her people, the warm heart 
 with all its exactions, ambitions, small vanities, and 
 great loves, would have been satisfied, could she have 
 heard the women by the river. How the young ones 
 wept and mourned ; how old Mother Nives, with a queer 
 break in her angry voice, called out : " Hush up, fools ! 
 She was worth the whole pack of you. Who will give 
 a body a merry word now? Who has dancing eyes, that 
 make one laugh and forget the ache in one s bones? 
 Who of } - ou is worth talking to ? " scowling fiercely. 
 " Hush up, I say ! " 
 
 To which Mother Quaper responded gutturally, through 
 volcanic sobs : " Who indeed, Madame Nivcs? But it s 
 late in the day for you to find it out. I was alwaj-s her 
 friend, and she knew it." 
 
 Battle royal ensued, long-continued, hot, and reaclv 
 ing over wide fields ; but it would have pleased Guenn, 
 for it was in her honor. And honest tears flowed fast, 
 and praises of her cleverness, brightness, and beauty 
 sounded man}" days by the river. Even the stolid girls, 
 the ugly and jealous girls, found something kind to say, 
 some remembered word or famous deed of Guenn Ro- 
 dellec to recount ; for thus we treat those whom we can 
 harm no more, and where the angel of death spreads 
 his majestic wings, envy withdraws its poisonous breath 
 and repudiates its own malignit}*. Guenn was then not 
 forgotten, but passed gloriously into the village annals.
 
 GUENN. 433 
 
 When, in the busiest sardine-season, a girl was praised 
 for a clever bargain, a saucy laughing answer, or for 
 rapid work in the usine, the grim} lish-wives and rough 
 sailors would shake their heads and say, "Ah, that s 
 nothing to Guenn Rodellec ! " When at a Pardon a 
 young girl, flushed and brilliant, came forward to receive 
 the prize for dancing, and blushed still deeper under 
 her lover s ardent gaze, until the mounting color reached 
 her modest coiffe, the young men would exclaim : " Ah, 
 but }-ou should have seen Guenn Rodellec, with cheeks 
 as pink as apple-buds, and feet as light as the crest of 
 a wave." 
 
 So Guenn s imperious vitality seemed to fill its right 
 ful place long after she was gone ; and when the people 
 spoke of her, the vivid little figure, with its sinuous 
 grace and daring, seemed again to be flashing through 
 the village, with a friendly call to the sailors on the 
 digue, a bold retort flung to any one who dared provoke 
 it, the sweet audacious voice singing ever, at work and 
 at pla}% the mutinous blue e}-es, with their vast indul 
 gence for her Plouvenec, their haughty stare for the 
 insignificant world beyond. 
 
 Ten j ears later, Hamor happened to be passing a 
 winter in Rome. Time had treated him gently and 
 generously, softening some angles of face and figure, 
 yet leaving him still with the charm of his bo3 ish happy 
 grace, and the golden gleams in his blond hair and 
 beard. Distinguished in his art, steadiby advancing, 
 his aspiration boundless, with a judicious number of 
 friends and sufficient wealth to meet his requirements, 
 Hamor was a fortunate man. 
 
 He had not as yet married. Frequent!} he had had 
 occasion to commune with himself upon this vital sub- 
 
 28
 
 434 GUENN. 
 
 ject, for he was a favorite with women, and still inclined 
 to make psychological studies of particularly charming 
 girls. There was alwaj^s some one in whom he was in 
 teresting himself more or less sentimentall} , during 
 those hours in which he was prevented from working by 
 the unavoidable recurrence of evening, the necessity of 
 dining, or some other imperative fact. But he laugh 
 ingly acknowledged that no woman could be more 
 to him than the charming flower of a da} . He would 
 say to his married friends: "The most of you, you 
 know, give your wives more or less divided homage 
 at best. I should give mine none at all. After the 
 novelty of daring to belong to such a wonderful creature 
 had ceased to surprise me, I should forget her. I should 
 go off to Egypt without saying good-by. I should do 
 the most outrageous things, upon my word. No ! while 
 I m an honest man I shall keep clear of matrimony. I 
 admit I have my passing temptations, like other men. 
 But I assure 3^011, when I begin a new painting I am 
 not aware that the tender passion exists. Now don t 
 jeer ; it s a fact. Something may be wanting in my 
 composition, but I positively do forget that there s such 
 a thing as a kiss in the universe ; and what is more, 
 you others may reason and act as you will, I m a 
 better painter when I forget it. The kind of wife I, in 
 my weaker moments, sigh for, is much too good to 
 become a victim to my obliviousness, and much too 
 pretty," he would conclude, the tender smiling look 
 which he alwaj s had for women and children creeping 
 over his face, touched with varied and mellow reminis 
 cence ; and his friends in a unanimous chorus pro 
 nounced him : " An odd fellow, but an excellent fellow 
 for all that. Hamor s heart is in the right place." 
 From his early childhood, when his gentle voice and
 
 GUENN. 435 
 
 winning smile had won from calloused maiden aunts 
 the cakes denied to less comely nephews, his indulgent 
 famity and the world at large had imputed to him an 
 incalculable amount of heart. A good reputation, like 
 a bad one. following a man with an assiduous want of 
 reason, few people mentioned Hamor s name without, 
 in one breath, alluding to his heart ; so that that organ, 
 faultless at least in its functions, had become finally as 
 famous as his paintings. 
 
 Coming rapidh" from a friend s studio in the Via San 
 Basilio one morning, he encountered a group of Carme 
 lite monks. Intent upon his own thoughts, eager to re 
 turn to an absorbing work, he had alreadj* passed the 
 mournful band, when he was irresistibty forced to stop 
 and follow them with his eye. His trained glance, in 
 spite of his preoccupation, had noted the leading figure, 
 and discovered a resemblance which mystified him. 
 
 "Where have I seen that man? Under what other 
 
 conditions? Ah, I have it. Bretagne, Les Lannions, 
 
 -Thymert himself! No other priest on earth ever 
 
 carried that magnificent pair of shoulders, and walked 
 
 with that sailor gait." 
 
 He overtook the group, reached the leader, and 
 cried, his pleasant voice ringing with remembrance and 
 welcome, "Is it 3-011, monsieur le cure, }-ou } our- 
 self?" extending both hands cordially. 
 
 The man started, shrank back, looked wildly around 
 as if seeking escape ; then, with the patience of utter 
 hopelessness, resigned himself. " This too will pass 
 away," warned the new discipline, smothering the hot 
 leaping fires of his old nature. 
 
 Was this indeed Thymert? The rich brown, with 
 which the sea-winds had tinged his face in the old free 
 life, was changed to an ashen pallor. The warmth of
 
 436 GUENN. 
 
 his dark eyes, that had glanced in loving protection 
 upon his barren islands, his fishermen, his Brittan}-, 
 was forever gone. Impenetrable gloom had settled be 
 neath his sad brows, and around the once generous and 
 unsuspecting mouth were stern and sorrowful lines. 
 
 " It is as if the spirit of youth in the man had been 
 suddenly killed, as if he bore in his heart the remem 
 brance of one fatal moment," thought Hamor, shocked 
 as a man, finely analytical as an artist. He was still 
 holding his hat in his hand. The sunshine fell on his 
 fair hair and happ3 T , cordial face. "Monsieur le rec- 
 teur, it gives me the greatest pleasure to see you again. 
 You have not quite forgotten me, I hope?" 
 
 " I have not forgotten you, monsieur." 
 
 Hamor went on genially, wondering much, but not 
 disturbed by the priest s lifeless manner. " I assure 
 you, I have never forgotten you, or anybodj" else in 
 Plouvenec. Happ} T clays, those. How often have I 
 longed to run up to Bretagne and see all the old 
 friends. But you know what life is, never long 
 enough for our plans." 
 
 "Long enough," repeated the priest without inter 
 est, without assent, without denial. 
 
 " Great heavens, a voice from the catacombs," 
 Hamor commented mentally ; yet not disconcerted, 
 continued in his friendly wa} : " And } ou are actually 
 living in Home? \Vho would have anticipated that, in 
 the old days ? " 
 
 "I am living in Rome," Thymert s dead voice 
 replied. 
 
 Even with Hamor s proverbial amiability, it was 
 difficult to prolong a conversation met by this wall 
 of unresponsiveness. 
 
 " I should like much to talk with you, when you are
 
 GUENN. 437 
 
 at liberty," Hamor began again easily. " I remember 
 my Breton days so well. They are among my most 
 dear reminiscences." 
 
 " I have no time," said the pale priest, his cavernous 
 eyes never turning from the painter s kindly solicitous 
 face. 
 
 "Ah? Then I must seize the happy moment, and 
 ask you now, while I have you, how everybody is. First 
 of all, Guenn, of course. Is she married? Is she 
 happy? Has she half a dozen babies, sun-browned, 
 rosy, and beautiful like herself ? " He saw them in 
 fancy, the sturdy pretty little things, and began to 
 smile on them genially. 
 
 Thymert s face looked as if it were carven in granite. 
 " Guenn is dead, monsieur." 
 
 " No ! Poor little Guenn ! Poor lovely little Guenn ! 
 It grieves me to hear that, upon my word. One really 
 can t associate the idea of death with Guenn Rodellec. 
 It always seemed to me she would live forever. Upon 
 my word, you have given me quite a shock, after these 
 years too, but I was always fond of her. When did it 
 happen, monsieur le recteur? You will surely tell me 
 that," he said gently. 
 
 " Ten years ago," replied the hollow voice. 
 
 " What ! The very year I left Plouvenec? " 
 
 "The year you left Plouvenec, monsieur." 
 
 " And how? " Hamor asked softly. 
 
 "Drowned, monsieur." 
 
 " Ah," slow!}-, " an accident. Poor dear pretty little 
 Guenn ! All her lightness and brightness gone ! I 
 have often thought of her since, I assure you. I have 
 never found a model so altogether beautiful, so fresh 
 and free and charming. I owe her much. You re 
 member that my picture of her brought me a medal of
 
 438 GUENN. 
 
 honor? That was the true beginning of my good for 
 tune. I sent her some pretty things from Paris, just 
 after I left Brittany. I selected them carefully. It 
 amused my friends ; but I wanted her to know I had 
 not forgotten her." 
 
 The dark priest made a strange, deprecating, unintel 
 ligible gesture ; then stood motionless and silent before 
 the sunii3 T -faced artist. 
 
 "Well," reflected Hamor, "all I have to say is, if 
 Rome has done it, Rome has much to answer for. 
 This man was the most superb creature I ever saw, the 
 most gloriousby alive. Now he is lost to humanity, 
 dead, petrified." 
 
 Gazing kindly into the inscrutable depths of Thy- 
 mert s e}"es, the painter said, with his fine musical 
 intonation: "I will not detain you, monsieur le cure. 
 I see that 3*ou are preoccupied. May I beg 3*011 to 
 keep this card, in case 3-011 should ever care to talk with 
 me ? For me. it would alwa3 S be a peculiar pleasure to 
 see 3"ou. I shall al\va3"S retain the strongest and most 
 grateful remembrance of you, and of the old Breton 
 da3 T s." 
 
 "Adieu, monsieur," rejoined the hollow voice; and 
 Thymert turned awa3\ Erect and strong he passed 
 down the narrow Roman street, his powerful swinging 
 shoulders as remarkable in the great cit3 as when, ten 
 3 T ears before, Hamor had first seen him in his old sou 
 tane, towering above the rough fisher-folk of his native 
 land. Then he was king among his people, b3* force of 
 his rich magnetism, and the warmth of his noble and 
 passionate heart. Now he bore on his face the majesty 
 of unutterable pain. 
 
 Hamor was unfeignedly grieved. " If I did not know 
 the simple goodness of the man, I should say that- not
 
 GUENN. 
 
 439 
 
 sorrow alone, but crime, had frozen him into this ghost 
 of his former self." 
 
 The sombre priest returned to his ascetic duties, his 
 penances, his prayers ; the happy painter, to his art. 
 Each man went his way.
 
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