e background of the grey, cold Breton skies, and give
a religious tone to the whole country.

The Bretons have ever remained a race apart, possessing their own
language, their own habits, manners and customs; not becoming absorbed
with other nations, nor absorbing in themselves any foreign element.
Separated from Normandy by no visible boundary line, divided by no
broad Channel, the Bretons are as different from the Normans as the
Normans are distinct from the English. They have a high standard of
integrity, of right and wrong, there is the distinct feeling of
_Noblesse oblige_ amongst them; their _noblesse_ consisting in the fact
that, being Breton, _il faut agir loyalement_. If they pass you their
word, you may be sure they will not go from it: it is as good as their
bond. They are a hundred years behind the rest of mankind, but there is
a great charm and a great compensation in their simplicity.

Normandy may be called the country of beautiful churches, Brittany of
beautiful towns.

This is eminently true of Morlaix, for, in spite of the removal of many
an ancient landmark, it is still wonderfully interesting. In situation
it is singularly favoured and romantic, placed as it is on the sides of
three deep ravines. Hills rise on all sides, shutting in the houses;
hills fertile and well-wooded; in many places cultivated and laid out in
gardens, where flowers grow and flourish all the year round, and
orchards that in spring-time are one blaze, one wealth of blossoming
fruit trees.

We looked out upon all this that first morning. Not a wealth of
blossoming trees, for the blossoms were over. But before us stretched
the high hills, and surrounding us were all the houses of Morlaix, old
and new. The sun we have said shone upon all, and we needed all this
brightness to make up for the discomforts of the past night. H.C.
declared that his dreams had been of tread-mills, monastic penances, and
the rack; but he had survived the affliction, and this morning was eager
for action.

It was market-day, and the market-place lay just to the right of us. The
stalls were in full force; the butter and poultry women in strong
evidence, and all the other stalls indigenous to the ceremony. There was
already a fair gathering of people, many of them _paysans_, armed with
umbrellas as stout and clumsy as themselves. For the Bretons know and
mistrust their own climate, and are too well aware that the day of a
brilliant morning too often en