Chapter 14

AN EXCURSION TO CROISIC

It was now the end of August, and the sky was magnificently clear.
Near the horizon the sea had taken, as it is wont to do in southern
climes, a tint of molten silver; on the shore it rippled in tiny
waves. A sort of glowing vapor, an effect of the rays of the sun
falling plumb upon the sands, produced an atmosphere like that of the
tropics. The salt shone up like bunches of white violets on the
surface of the marsh. The patient /paludiers/, dressed in white to
resist the action of the sun, had been from early morning at their
posts, armed with long rakes. Some were leaning on the low mud-walls
that divided the different holdings, whence they watched the process
of this natural chemistry, known to them from childhood. Others were
playing with their wives and children. Those green dragons, otherwise
called custom-house officers, were tranquilly smoking their pipes.

There was something foreign, perhaps oriental, about the scene; at any
rate a Parisian suddenly transported thither would never have supposed
himself in France. The baron and baroness, who had made a pretext of
coming to see how the salt harvest throve, were on the jetty, admiring
the silent landscape, where the sea alone sounded the moan of her
waves at regular intervals, where boats and vessels tracked a vast
expanse, and the girdle of green earth richly cultivated, produced an
effect that was all the more charming because so rare on the desolate
shores of ocean.

"Well, my friends, I wanted to see the marshes of Guerande once more
before I die," said the baron to the /paludiers/, who had gathered
about the entrance of the marshes to salute him.

"Can a Guenic die?" said one of them.

Just then the party from Les Touches arrived through the narrow
pathway. The marquise walked first alone; Calyste and Camille followed
arm-in-arm. Gasselin brought up the rear.

"There are my father and mother," said the young man to Camille.

The marquise stopped short. Madame du Guenic felt the most violent
repulsion at the appearance of Beatrix, although the latter was
dressed to much advantage. A Leghorn hat with wide brims and a wreath
of blue-bells, her crimped hair fluffy beneath it, a gown of some gray
woollen stuff, and a blue sash with floating ends gave her the air of
a princess disguised as a milkmaid.

"She has no heart," thought the baroness.

"Mademoiselle," said Calyste to Camille, "this is Madame du Guenic,
and this is my father." Then he said turning to the baron and
baroness, "Mademoiselle des Touches, and Madame la Marquise de
Rochefide, /nee/ de Casteran, father."

The baron bowed to Mademoiselle des