How can I tell you all that he said?  It was in fragments, disconnected, and represented the great tragedy of a humble life.  I remember that several times, while he told it to me, my hand rested in sympathy upon that great arm of his, that had now become very weak.  It was at first just the simplest little tale of love somewhere on the coast of Brittany, and of vows exchanged before a Virgin that stretched out her arms towards the sea.  And then Yves was taken away upon a warship, and there were tears and prayers for his return.  He couldn’t remember all the countries from which he had sent letters, but after many months answers ceased to come.

Then a new recruit had joined, who belonged to his town, and informed him that the family had moved away on the other side of the ocean, to St. Pierre-Miquelon.  So Yves had written, but still no letters came.  But one day it chanced that the cruiser was sent up there, to keep an eye on the fisheries, and he was in a fever of waiting until they should arrive.  On the first day that he obtained shore leave he had wandered up and down the little streets, and looked at names over cafes and shops, and asked questions of all who would listen to him.  No one knew anything of Jeanne-Marie Kermadec.  At last one man remembered that a family of that name had remained less than a year and had gone back to France.

Then he had wandered off again, and from the cafes comrades of his called to him to join them, but he strolled on, and suddenly he had seen a hollow-eyed woman enter a drinking-shop, and on her arm she bore a baby.  So of course he had followed her, feeling as if he had been very drunk.  But he had not had a drop.  She had gone to a bleary man who sat at a little table, with others, and tried to make him come out with her.  But the man swore at her, and the woman left, crying, and Yves had followed her out into the street, and when he spoke she knew him, and cried harder.  So he had gone as far as her house, and then she wept on his shoulder.  Her people had gone away but she had remained, for her love had gone out to this man and the Virgin on the hill was very far away.  At first she had been very happy, but now Yves could see what was happening, and the baby was very hungry, for there was no bread in the house.

Then Yves had emptied his pocket on the table and gone away, very unsteadily, and some of the men on his ship laughed at him.  But perhaps he was looking dangerous, because after he had glared at them once they left him alone.

After this he had met Jeanne-Marie several times, but his ship soon left on a trip to some places in Canada.  In one of these there was a great coal mine near the sea, and in another town perched queerly on a rock they had anchored in the Saint Laurent.  Yes, perhaps it was Quebec; he knew the people spoke French there.  Then after a time the cruiser had returned to St. Pierre.  He thought it might be better not to go back to that house, but he found that he could not keep away.