building, where the _religieux_ retire from the
world, yet are not too isolated.

And on this side, on the _Cours Beaumont_, a lovely walk planted with
trees, we come to the Fontaine des Anglais, so called because here, in
1522, six hundred English were surprised asleep by the people of
Morlaix, and slain. They had, however, courted their own doom. Henry
VIII. had picked a quarrel with Francis I. for seizing the ships of
English merchants in French ports. The English king had escorted with
his fleet the Emperor Charles V., of Spain, under command of the Earl of
Surrey, and in returning, it entered the river, surprised Morlaix, burnt
and sacked the town, and murdered many of its inhabitants. They left it
loaded with spoil; and when the inhabitants surprised these six hundred
English they revenged themselves upon them without mercy.

To-day, we had no sooner reached the spot than suddenly the clouds
gathered, the sky was overcast, a squall rose shrieking and whistling
amidst the trees, and there was every appearance of a downpour. We were
not prepared for it, but we rashly continued our way. At last, just
before we reached a small road-side cabaret, down it came, as if the
whole reservoir of cloudland had been let loose.

We hastily stopped at the auberge, already half-drenched, and H.C.
crying out "Any port in a storm," we entered it. It was humble enough,
yet might every benighted traveller in every storm find as good a
refuge!

The good woman of the house was standing at her poele, preparing the
mysteries of the mid-day dinner. Her husband, she said, had gone into
Morlaix, with fish to sell--it was one of their chief means of
livelihood. He bought the fish from the fishermen who came up the river,
and sold it again to the hotels. One of his best customers was the Hotel
d'Europe, and M. Hellard was a brave monsieur, who never beat them down
in their prices, and had always a pleasant word for them. Madame was
very amiable too, for the matter of that.

It was rather a hard life, but what with that and the little profit of
the auberge, they managed to make both ends meet.

She had three children. The eldest was a girl, and had her wits about
her. She had been to Paris with her father, and had seen the Exhibition,
and talked about it like a grown-up person. But her father had taken her
one night to the Theatre des Varietes in the Champs Elysees, and the
girl had been mad ever since to become a _chanteuse_ and an actre