As he asked the question Christian glanced at his companion's face. He saw the sad eyes light up suddenly with a glow that was not of this dull earth at all; he saw the thin, pure face suddenly acquire a great and wondrous peace. The young priest rose to his feet, and, crossing the deck, he stood holding with one hand to the tarred rigging, his back turned towards the Englishman, looking over the still waters. Presently he returned, and laying his thin hand upon Christian's shoulder, he said, “My friend, you have saved me. In the first shock of my disillusion I never thought of this. I think--I think there is work for me yet.” CHAPTER XXI TRUE TO HIS CLOTH With the morning tide, the _Deux Frères_ entered Audierne harbour. The rough sailors crossed themselves as they looked towards the old wooden cross upon the headland, facing the great Atlantic. They thought of the dead “patron” in the little cabin below, and the joyous young wife, whose snowy head-dress they could almost distinguish upon the pier among the waiters there. Both Christian Vellacott and the Abbé were on deck. They had been there the whole night. They had lain motionless side by side upon the old sail. Day vanished, night stole on, and day came again without either having closed his eyes or opened his lips. They now stood near the steersman, and looked upon the land with an interest which only comes after heavy weather at sea. To the Englishman this little fishing-port was unknown, and he did not care to ask. The vessel was now dropping up the river, with anchor swinging, and the women on the pier were walking inland slowly, keeping pace and waving a greeting from time to time in answer to a husband's shout. “That is she, Monsieur L'Abbé,” said Hoel Grall, with a peculiar twitch of his coarse mouth, as if from pain. “That is she with the little child!” René Drucquer bowed his head, saying nothing. The _Deux Frères_ slowly edged alongside the old quay in her usual berth above the sardine boats. A board was thrown across from the rail to the quay, and the priest stepped ashore alone. He went towards the smiling young wife without any hesitation; she stood there surrounded by the wives of the sailors on board the _Deux Frères_, with her snowy coiffe and spotless apron, holding her golden-haired child by the hand. All the women curtsied as the priest approached, for in these western provinces the Church is still respected. “My daughter,” said the Abbé, “I have bad news for you.” She smiled still, misunderstanding his calmness. “Ah, mon père,” she said, “it is the season of the great winds now. What a long voyage it has been! And you say it is a bad one. My husband is no doubt in despair, but another voyage is sure to be better; is it not so? I have not seen Loic upon the deck, but then my sight is not good. I am not from Audierne, mon père, but from inland where we cannot see so far.”