ked around and about us--at a
certain distance--and seemed as interested and perplexed as if we had
been visitants from other regions clothed in unknown forms. But they
manifested none of the delicacy of our little guide, and were not half
so interesting. Yet probably the roughest and rudest boy amongst them
might be the maiden's brother; for we have just said that Nature
delights in surprises, and not infrequently in contradictions. The
building they poured out of, now the College, was an ancient convent of
the Recollets, dating from 1645.

A commotion in the courtyard of the "Grande Maison," which was just
opposite the timber market-house, and the appearance of the driver on
his box, in all the dignity of office, was our signal for departure. We
looked back after leaving the town, and there in the distance, uprising
towards the sky, was the lovely spire of le Folgoet, a monument to
departed greatness, superstition, and religious fervour; a dream of
beauty which will last, we may hope, for many ages to come.

We soon re-entered the road we had travelled earlier in the day; and in
due time, after one or two narrow escapes of being overturned, so high
was the wind, so blinding the dust, we re-entered Landerneau, a haven of
refuge from the boisterous gale.

Our host had prepared us a sumptuous repast, of which the crowning glory
was a pyramid of strawberries flanked on one side by a ewer of the
freshest cream, and on the other by a quaint old sugar basin of chased
silver, of the First Empire period. Could mortals have desired more,
even on Olympus--even in the Amaranthine fields of Elysium?

It was not yet the dinner-hour and we had it all to ourselves, with the
waiter's undivided attention, who hoped we had not been disappointed in
our little excursion. "He had been five years in Landerneau, but had
never yet seen le Folgoet. Dame! he had no time for pilgrimages, and
doubted whether, after all, they did much good. For his part, he didn't
believe in miracles. Du reste, he had nothing the matter with him; was
neither blind, lame, nor stupid--grace au ciel, for he had his living to
get. As for the church, to him one church was very much like another:
and he would rather arrange a pyramid of strawberries than contemplate
the spires of his native Quimper."

So true is it that water will not rise above its own level--and perhaps
so merciful.

In due course we returned once more to our now old and familiar haunt,
Morlaix