If some of
the strangeness had worn off, they certainly appeared no less forlorn
as they sat huddled in physical anguish, dumb, immobile, staring at
the sea.
The little Cure, however, was vivacious enough for ten. It was
impossible to avoid making friends with him. He had nothing to do,
he told me, with his companions, but was just a plain parish priest
returning from an errand of business.
He announced this with a fine roll of the voice.
"Of business," he repeated. "The English are a great nation for
business. But how warm of heart, notwithstanding!"
"That is not always reckoned to us," said I.
"But _I_ reckon it . . . _Tenez_, that will be Ile Vierge--there,
with the lighthouse standing white--as it were, beneath the cliffs;
but the cliffs belong in fact to the mainland. . . . And now in a few
minutes we come abreast of _my_ parish--the Ile Lezan. . . . See,
see!" He caught my arm as the tide raced us down through the Passage
du Four. "My church--how her spire stands up!" He turned to me, his
voice shaking with emotion. "You English are accustomed to travel.
Probably you do not guess, monsieur, with what feelings I see again
Ile Lezan--I, who have never crossed the Channel before nor indeed
have visited any foreign land.
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