Iceland appeared to her, with its little cemetery--Iceland far, far away, lighted from below the sea-line by the midnight sun ... and suddenly--still in the same empty space on the wall which seemed to be waiting--she saw with horrifying clearness the vision of that new slab she had imagined: a fresh tablet, a death’s-head and cross-bones, and in the centre, within a flame, a name--the adored name of _Yann Gaos_! Then she drew herself up straight and stiff, with a hoarse, wild cry in her throat like a mad creature. Without, the gray dawn-mist still hung over the earth, and the dead leaves continued to come dancing into the porch. Steps on the foot-path!--Was somebody coming?--Then she arose quickly, with a swift movement readjusting her coif, and composed her countenance. The footsteps came nearer, as though they would enter. At once she assumed the air of being there by chance. Not for anything in the world would she as yet seem like the widow of a shipwrecked mariner. It was only Fante Floury, the wife of the mate on the _Léopoldine_. She understood at once what Gaud was doing there; it was useless to dissemble with her. And at first they stood mute, the one before the other, these two women; all the more alarmed and angry at being entrapped while in the same mood of fear, they almost hated each other. “All those from Tréguier and from Saint-Brieuc have been back for a week,” said Fante at last, pitilessly, in a voice low and almost irritated. She carried a taper, meaning to make a votive offering. Ah! Yes! a votive offering--Gaud had not wished to think as yet of that last resort of the desolate. But she entered the chapel behind Fante, without saying anything more, and they knelt side by side, like two sisters. To the Virgin, Star of the Sea, they said their passionate prayers with all their hearts. But only the sound of sobs was heard, and their rapid tears began to fall upon the floor. They arose together, more tender, more confident. Fante aided the tottering Gaud, and, taking her in her arms, she kissed her. After wiping away their tears, arranging their hair, and brushing the saltpetre and dust of the flagstones from their skirts at the knees, they went away without saying anything more, by different paths. * * * * * This September’s close was like another summer, only it was somewhat melancholy. The weather was really so beautiful this year that had it not been for the dead leaves that fell in a mournful shower along the roadways one might have said that it was the gay month of June. Husbands, fiancés, sweethearts, had all returned, and everywhere was the joy of a second spring-time of love. At last one day one of the delayed ships from Iceland was signalled in the offing. Which one? On the cliff, groups of mute and anxious women quickly formed. Gaud was there, trembling and pale, by the side of the father of her Yann.