The exterior is far finer, far more wonderful.  One never grew tired of gazing; of examining it from every point of view.  It was a dream picture and a marvel.  Nothing we saw in Brittany compared with it, excepting the Cathedral of Quimper.  Before it stretched the dreary plain; behind it were the humble houses composing the village, very much out of sight and not at all aggressive.

On the south side was the Gothic college built by Anne of Brittany; and here she and Francis the First lodged, when they came on a pilgrimage to le Folgoet.  It is a Gothic building of the fifteenth century, with an octagonal turret of rare design; but its beauty is of the past.  We found it in the hands of the restorers, who were doing their best to ruin it.  Originally it harmonised wonderfully with the church, but soon the harmony will have disappeared for ever.

Our carriage had gone on to the neighbouring town of Lesneven, to rest the horses and await our arrival, leaving us free to examine and loiter as we pleased.  No one troubled us.  The inhabitants were all away; or sleeping; or eating and drinking; the scene was as quiet and desolate as if the church had been in the midst of a desert.

But the time came when we must leave it to its solitude and go back into the world—­the small but interesting world of Brittany; the world of slow-moving people and sleepy ways, and ancient towns full of wonderful outlines and mediaeval reminiscences.

We took a last look round.  We seemed alone in the world, no sight or sound of humanity anywhere; the very workmen despoiling the Gothic college had disappeared, leaving the mute witnesses of their vandalism in the form of scaffolding and very modern bricks and mortar.  Beyond was a village street and small houses well closed and apparently deserted.  Nearer to us rose the magnificent church, with its towers and spire, all its rich carving fringed against the background of the sky.  The longer we looked, the more wonderful seemed its solemn and exquisite tone.  The trees beneath which we stood waved and bent and rustled in the strong wind that blew; and beyond all stretched the dreary plain; dreary and desolate, but adding much to the charm of the picture.  It was a scene never to be forgotten; but it was, after all, a scene appealing only to certain temperaments:  to those who delight in the highest forms of architecture; in walls time-honoured and lichen-stained; who find beauty and charm ever in the blue sky and the waving trees; a charm that is chiefly spiritual.

Leaving the church behind us, and the dreary plain to our left, we passed into a country road with high hedges.  This soon led us to a pathway across the fields.  About a mile in the distance the steeples of Lesneven rose up and served us as beacons.  The day was still young and the sun was high in the heavens.  Small white clouds chased each other rapidly, driven by the strong wind that blew.  We soon reached the quiet town and found it quiet