“You are partial,” cried H.C., but very amiably.  “What about Quimper’s wonderful cathedral?  Where can you match that architectural dream in Morlaix?”

“There, indeed, I give in,” returned our host, meekly.  “Morlaix has nothing to boast of in the way of churches, thanks to the revolution.  But in the neighbourhood, each within the limits of a day’s excursion, we have St. Thegonnec, Guimiliau, St. Jean-du-Doigt—­and last and greatest of all—­Le Folgoet.  Besides these, we have a host of minor but interesting excursions.”

“The minor must be left to the future,” we replied; “for the present we must confine ourselves to the major monuments.”

“One can’t do everything,” chimed in Madame Hellard, who came up at the moment.  “I never recommend small excursions unless you are making a long stay in the neighbourhood.  It becomes too tiring.  We had a charming English family with us last year; a milord, very rich—­they are all rich—­with a sweetly amiable wife, who made herself in the hotel quite one of ourselves, and would chatter with us in my bureau by the hour together.  Mon cher”—­to her husband—­“do you remember how they enjoyed the regatta, and seeing all the natives turn out in their Sunday clothes; and how Madame laughed at the old women who fried the pancakes upon their knees in the open air; and the boys and girls who took them up hot and buttery in their fingers and devoured them like savages?  Do you remember?”

Monsieur Hellard apparently did remember, and shook with laughter at the recollection of that or of something equally droll.

“I shall never forget Madame’s look of astonishment,” he cried, “as the pancakes were turned out of the poele, and disappeared wholesale like lightning.”  ‘Ah, madame,’ I said, ’you have yet to learn the capacious appetites of our Breton boys and girls.  It is one of the few things in which they are not slow and phlegmatic.’

“‘And have not improved in,’ laughed Madame.  ’These habits are the remains of barbarism.’

“‘Madame,’ I replied, ’you must not forget that we are descended from the Ancient Britons.’  Ah! that was a clencher, Madame laughed, but she said no more.”

“Until she returned,” added our hostess.  “Then she whispered to me:  ’Madame Hellard, those pancakes looked extremely good, and as they are peculiar to Brittany, you must give us some for dinner.  I must taste your crepes.’

“‘Madame la Comtesse,’ I returned, ’Brittany has many peculiarities; we cannot deny it; would that they were all as innocent as these crepes.  My chef is not a Breton, and he will not make them, perhaps, quite a la maniere des notres; but I will superintend him for once.  You shall have our famous dish.’  And if you wish to know how she liked them,” concluded Madame, laughing, “ask Catherine, la-haut.  Three times a week at least we had pancakes on the menu.  But nothing delights us more than when we please our guests.  We like them to be at home here, and to feel that they may do as they please and order what they like.”