Making the signof the cross, he began the Lord's prayer in Latin: "/Pater noster, quies in coelis,
coach outlet store, sanctificetur nomen tumm/----"The silence included all, even to the joyful little ones downstairs,and every voice was repeating in an undertone the same eternal words.
"This is for Yves and Jean Gaos, my two brothers, who were lost in theSea of Iceland. This is for Pierre Gaos, my son, shipwrecked aboardthe /Zelie/." When all the dead Gaoses had had their prayers,
Coach Op Art, heturned towards grandmother Moan, saying, "This one is for SylvestreMoan."Yann wept as he recited another prayer.
"/Sed libera nos a malo. Amen/!"Then the songs began; sea-songs learned in the navy, on theforecastle, where we all know there are rare good vocalists.
"/Un noble corps, pas moins que celui des Zouaves/," etc.
A noble and a gallant ladThe Zouave is, we know,But, capping him for bravery,The sailor stands, I trow.
Hurrah, hurrah! long life to him,Whose glory never can grow dim!
This was sung by one of the bride's supporters, in a feeling tone thatwent to the soul; and the chorus was taken up by other fine, manlyvoices.
But the newly wedded pair seemed to listen as from a distance. Whenthey looked at one another, their eyes shone with dulled brilliance,like that of transparently shaded lamps. They spoke in even a lowervoice, and still held each other's hands. Gaud bent her head, too,gradually overcome by a vast, delightful terror, before her master.
The pilot cousin went around the table, serving out a wine of his own;he had brought it with much care, hugging and patting the bottle,which ought not to be shaken, he said. He told the story of it. Oneday out fishing they saw a cask a-floating; it was too big to haul onboard, so they had stove in the head and filled all the pots and pansthey had, with most of its contents. It was impossible to take all, sothey had signalled to other pilots and fishers, and all the sails insight had flocked round the flotsam.
"And I know more than one old sobersides who was gloriously topheavywhen we got back to Pors-Even at night!" he chuckled liquorishly.
The wind still went on with its fearful din.
Downstairs the children were dancing in rings; except some of theyoungest, sent to bed; but the others,
coach discount, who were romping about,
wholesale coach purses, led bylittle Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guillaume), wanted to go and playoutside. Every minute they were opening the door and letting infurious gusts, which blew out the candles.
The pilot cousin went on with his story. Forty bottles had fallen tohis lot, he said. He begged them all to say nothing about it, becauseof "/Monsieur le Commissaire de l'Inscription Maritime/," who wouldsurely make a fuss over the undeclared find.
"But, d'ye see," he went on, "it sarved the lubbers right to heaveover such a vallyble cask or let it 'scape the lashings, for it'ssuperior quality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice in it thanin all the wine-me