But Yann clearly knew that that was not true, and that she was a very respectable old woman, who only drank water.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” roared he to the boys.

He was very angry, and his voice and tone frightened them, so that in the twinkling of an eye they all took flight, frightened and confused before “Long Gaos.”

Gaud, who was just returning from Paimpol, bringing home her work for the evening, had seen all this from afar, and had recognised Granny in the group.  She eagerly rushed forward to learn what the matter was, and what they had done to her; seeing the cat, she understood it all.  She lifted up her frank eyes to Yann, who did not look aside; neither thought of avoiding each other now; but they both blushed deeply and they gazed rather startled at being so near one another; but without hatred, almost with affection, united as they were in this common impulse of pity and protection.

The school-children had owed a grudge to the poor dead grimalkin for some time, because he had a black, satanic look; though he was really a very good cat, and when one looked closely at him, he was soft and caress-inviting of coat.  They had stoned him to death, and one of his eyes hung out.  The poor old woman went on grumbling, shaking with emotion, and carrying her dead cat by the tail, like a dead rabbit.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! my poor boy, my poor lad, if he were only here; for sure, they’d never dared a-do it.”

Tears were falling down in her poor wrinkles; and her rough blue-veined hands trembled.

Gaud had put her cap straight again, and tried to comfort her with soothing words.  Yann was quite indignant to think that little children could be so cruel as to do such a thing to a poor aged woman and her pet.  Tears almost came into his eyes, and his heart ached for the poor old dame as he thought of Sylvestre, who had loved her so dearly, and the terrible pain it would have been to him to see her thus, under derision and in misery.

Gaud excused herself as if she were responsible for her state.  “She must have fallen down,” she said in a low voice; “’tis true her dress isn’t new, for we’re not very rich, Monsieur Yann; but I mended it again only yesterday, and this morning when I left home I’m sure she was neat and tidy.”

He looked at her steadfastly, more deeply touched by that simple excuse than by clever phrases or self-reproaches and tears.  Side by side they walked on to the Moans’ cottage.  He always had acknowledged her to be lovelier than any other girl, but it seemed to him that she was even more beautiful now in her poverty and mourning.  She wore a graver look, and her gray eyes had a more reserved expression, and nevertheless seemed to penetrate to the inner depth of the soul.  Her figure, too, was thoroughly formed.  She was twenty-three now, in the full bloom of her loveliness.  She looked like a genuine fisher’s daughter, too, in her plain black gown and cap; yet one could not precisely tell what gave her that unmistakable token of the lady; it was involuntary and concealed within herself, and she could not be blamed for it; only perhaps her bodice was a trifle nicer fitting than the others, though from sheer inborn taste, and showed to advantage her rounded bust and perfect arms.  But, no! the mystery was revealed in her quiet voice and look.