Yvonne assured her irate landlady that the best ragout in Brittany would not lack appreciation that day, and went to visit her mother in more cheerful mood than she would have deemed possible overnight. It was market day, and the Place au Beurre, beside whose old houses the parish church of Saint Guenolé reared its modest spire, was alive already with country carts, smart coifs, and velvet jackets. In the larger square across the bridge traders from neighboring towns were erecting stalls for the display of their merchandise, mostly wearing apparel and articles of household use.
Yvonne knew everybody, and everybody knew her. She had a smile and a nod for the Widow Limbour, whose confectionery and sweets had won her heart years ago, for Marrec the barber, Daoudal the baker, Madame Le Naour, purveyor of a strange blend in hats and liqueurs, and Madame Le Garrec, seller of newspapers and picture postcards. Monsieur le Courronc, whose little gallery had held many of her father's pictures, had spared a moment from his artistic wood carving, and was looking out at the crowded marketplace. The Morvans, Monsieur et Madame, whose Breton costumes and laces excite the desire and empty the purses of fair visitors in the summer, were in Pont Aven that day, and Canivet the coach builder was standing at the entrance to the yard that houses his industry. Each and all greeted Yvonne. For a few happy minutes she forgot her worries, until a girl met her, and asked shyly:
"Is there any news of Madeleine?"
That took some of the blue out of the sky. Yvonne had to confess that nothing was known of Madeleine except that she had gone to Quimperlé the previous day. Her questioner simpered, and passed on. Madeleine's story was already discredited. Much water would flow under the bridge before she was reinstated in the good opinion of Pont Aven.
Yvonne caught sight of Tollemache, standing, with a pipe in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, outside Julia's. (And, by the way, there is no disrespect in this curt allusion to the name of the chief hotel in the village. It is never spoken of locally otherwise than as "Julia's" in English and "Chez Julia" in French. The excellent lady who to a large extent built, and in every other way owns, the property would think her popularity was fading if any more ceremonious description was used.)
Near Lorry were Captain Popple and Jackson, the latter now promoted to a stick and a slow limp. Yvonne would have passed with a smiling "Goodmorning," but Tollemache pocketed his pipe and hailed her. She realized instantly that he was excited about something quite out of the common run, though his air was studiously composed.
"You're going to Mrs. Carmac, I suppose?" he said.
"Yes," she answered, coloring slightly under the intensity of his gaze, for Lorry had fine eyes, and now they seemed to be looking into her heart; which was so absurd a notion that her cheeks grew redder and redder.
"You won't be there long before Raymond comes in," he went on earnestly. "When he turns up I want you to look out through the window, and touch your chin with your right hand. That's all."