We hesitated very much, but we had to see Plougasnou, and our driver, for reasons of his own, declared that Plougasnou was far more beautiful than St. Jean du Doigt, whilst its inn was renowned in Brittany.  So, having watched the funeral wind picturesquely down the hill-side, pause at the beautiful gateway, and disappear into the church, we departed.

It was very charming to drive about the hills and valleys, the narrow country lanes that were full of the beauty of summer.  Finally, a steep ascent brought us to our destination with a rude awakening.  We had left Paradise for very earthly quarters.  There was no beauty about the spot, which, placed on a hill, was bleak, bare, and exposed.  The inn was the incarnation of ugliness, and everything about it was rough and rude.  In the kitchen two women were at work.  The one was brewing coffee, which sent forth a delicious aroma, the other, with weeping eyes, was peeling onions for the pot-au-feu.

We were served with a modest luncheon in a room behind the kitchen.  Madame prepared our food, and we had the privilege of assisting at the ceremony.  We were initiated into the mystery of frying an omelette-au-naturel, the safest thing to order, no matter where you may be in France, for the humblest cottage knows how to send up its omelette to perfection.  The handmaiden waited upon us, but she was heavy and not intelligent, and she walked about in wooden shoes that clattered and echoed and shocked one’s nerves.  But this did not affect the omelette, or the modest ragout that concluded the banquet.

We lunched almost al fresco.  The window was wide open and looked on to a large yard, surrounded by outbuildings.  Hens raced about, and without ceremony flew up to the window and demanded their share of the feast.  Several cats came in; so that, as far as animals were concerned, we might still consider ourselves in Paradise.

Then we passed out by way of the window, and immense dogs bade us defiance and woke the echoes of the neighbourhood.  Luckily they were chained, and H.C.’s “Cave canem!” was superfluous.  The church struck out the hour.  Placed in a sort of three-cornered square above the inn, the tower stood out boldly against the background of sky, but it possessed no beauty or merit.  Away out of sight and hearing, we imagined the glorious sea breaking and frothing over the rocks, and the points of land that stretched out ruggedly towards the horizon; but we did not go down to it.  We felt out of tune with our surroundings, and only cared for the moment when we should commence the long drive homeward.  Had we possessed some special anathema, some charm that would have placed our driver under a mild punishment for twenty-four hours, I believe that we should not have spared him.

So, on the whole, we were glad that our excursion to le Folgoet would have to be done in part by train.  We arranged it for the morrow, making the most of our blue skies.