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 ends in weeping skies.  Many wore costumes which, though quaint, were not by any means beautiful.  They were heavy and ungraceful, like the people themselves:  broad-brimmed hats and loose trunk hose that hung about them like sacks, something after the fashion of Turkish pantaloons; and the men wore their hair in huge manes, hanging down their backs, ugly and untidy; habits, costumes and people all indicative of la Bretagne Bretonnante—­la Basse Bretagne.

It was a lively scene, in which we longed to take a part; listen to the strange language, watch the ways and manners of this distinctive race, who certainly are too aboriginal to win upon you at first sight.

The hotel was wide awake this morning, full of life and movement.  All who had had to do with us last night gave us a special greeting.  They seemed to look upon us almost as enfants de la maison; had taken us in and done for us under special circumstances, and so had special claims upon us.  Moreover, we were English, and the English are much considered in Morlaix.

We looked upon last night’s adventures as the events of a dream, though at the time they had been very painful realities.  The first object in the hotel to meet our gaze was Andre, his face still tied up like a mummy, still looking the Image of Misery, as if he and repose had known nothing of each other since we had parted from him.  He was, however, very anxious for our welfare, and hoped we had slept well on our impromptu couches.