The wind still went on with its fearful din.
Downstairs the children were dancing in rings; except some of the youngest, sent to bed; but the others, who were romping about, led by little Fantec (Francis) and Laumec (Guillaume), wanted to go and play outside. Every minute they were opening the door and letting in furious gusts, which blew out the candles.
The pilot cousin went on with his story. Forty bottles had fallen to his lot, he said. He begged them all to say nothing about it, because of “Monsieur le Commissaire de l'Inscription Maritime,” who would surely make a fuss over the undeclared find.
“But, d'ye see,” he went on, “it sarved the lubbers right to heave over such a vallyble cask or let it 'scape the lashings, for it's superior quality, with sartinly more jinywine grape-juice in it than in all the wine-merchants' cellars of Paimpol. Goodness knows whence it came—this here castaway liquor.”
It was very strong and rich in colour, dashed with sea-water, and had the flavour of cod-pickle, but in spite of that, relishable; and several bottles were emptied.
Some heads began to spin; the Babel of voices became more confused, and the lads kissed the lasses less surreptitiously.
The songs joyously continued; but the winds would not moderate, and the seamen exchanged tokens of apprehension about the bad weather increasing.
The sinister clamour without was indeed worse than ever. It had become one continuous howl, deep and threatening, as if a thousand mad creatures were yelling with full throats and out-stretched necks.
One might imagine heavy sea-guns shooting out their deafening boom in the distance, but that was only the sea hammering the coast of Ploubazlanec on all points; undoubtedly it did not appear contented, and Gaud felt her heart shrink at this dismal music, which no one had ordered for their wedding-feast.
Towards midnight, during a calm, Yann, who had risen softly, beckoned his wife to come to speak with him.