On each side of the doorway was a granite seat for the widows and mothers; and this shady spot, irregularly shaped like a grotto, was guarded by an old image of the Virgin, coloured red, with large staring eyes, looking most like Cybele--the first goddess of the earth.
"Gaos!" Again! "To the Memory of GAOS, FRANCOIS, Husband of Anne-Marie le Goaster, Captain on board the _Paimpolais_, Lost off Iceland, between the 1st and 3d of May, 1877, With the twenty-three men of his crew.

May they rest in peace!" And, lower down, were two cross-bones under a black skull with green eyes, a simple but ghastly emblem, reminding one of all the barbarism of a bygone age.
"Gaos, Gaos!" The name was everywhere.

As she read, thrills of sweet tenderness came over her for this Yann of her choice, damped by a feeling of hopelessness.

Nay, he would never be hers! How could she tear him from the sea where so many other Gaoses had gone down, ancestors and brothers, who must have loved the sea like he! She entered the chapel.
It was almost dark, badly lit by low windows with heavy frames.

And there, her heart full of tears that would better have fallen, she knelt to pray before the colossal saints, surrounded by common flowers, touching the vaulted roof with their massive heads.