e dens of London, never in a decent
household. It made us feel inexpressibly sad and sorrowful. Here was a
great mystery; two people terribly ill-matched. We glanced at the
husband, expecting to see a flush mantling his brow. But he quietly went
on with what he was about, as though he saw not, and mother and child
disappeared upstairs.

Here, then, whether he knew it or not, was the little rift within the
lute. An ill-assorted marriage, a life-long mistake. Had he looked and
chosen above him, his help-meet might have assisted him to rise in the
world and to become famous. As it was, he had been caught by a pretty
face--for, with due care and attention and a settled expression, the
face would have been undoubtedly pretty--and had sealed his fate. With
such a wife no man could rise.

We left him to his art and went our way, very sorrowful. It was a lovely
morning, and we started back for the hotel, having arranged to take a
drive at a certain hour along the river banks to the sea.

We found the conveyance ready for us. Monsieur, by special attentions,
was making up for the lapses of that one terrible night.

Above us, as we went, stretched the gigantic viaduct, so singular a
contrast with the ancient houses and remains of this old town; forming a
comparison that certainly makes Morlaix one of the most remarkable towns
in France. Beneath it rose the houses on the rocky slopes, one above
another, so that from the back you may almost enter them from the roof,
as you do some of the Tyrolese chalets. In Morlaix it has given rise to
a proverb: "Du jardin au grenier, comme on dit a Morlaix."

[Illustration: MORLAIX.]

Beneath the viaduct, far down, was the river and the little port, where
vessels of considerable tonnage may anchor, and which has added much to
the prosperity of the town, that trades largely in corn, vegetables,
butter, honey, wax, oil-seeds, and--as we have seen--horses. There is
also a large tobacco manufactory here, which gives employment to an
immense number of hands.

We passed all this and went our way down the right bank of the river.
The scenery is very picturesque; the heights are well wooded, broken and
undulating. Some of the richer inhabitants of Morlaix have built
themselves houses on the heights; charming chateaux where they spend
their summers, and luxuriate in the fresh breezes that blow up from the
sea. Across there on the left bank of the river, rises the convent of
St. Francois, a large