“Ma foi!” cried Catherine, as we met her on the staircase, “a pretty state of things we should have with two mistresses in the salle-a-manger!  I should feel as much out of my element as a hen that has hatched duck’s eggs, and sees her brood taking to the water.”

“And apparently there would be as much clucking and commotion,” we slily observed.

Catherine laughed.  “Quite as much.  I always say, whatever you have to do, do it thoroughly; and if you have to put people down, let there be no mistake about it.  By that means it won’t occur again.”

And Catherine went off with a very determined step and expression, her cap streamers flying on the breeze, to order us a light repast suited to the lateness of the hour.  She was certainly Madame’s right hand, and she ministered to our entertainment no less than to our necessities.

Sunday rose fair and promising; a whole week of sunshine and fine weather was a phenomenon in Brittany.  Quite early in the morning the town was awake and astir, and it was evident that the good people of Morlaix were going in for the dissipation of a fete day.

The morning drew on, and everyone seemed to have turned out in their best apparel, though, to our sorrow, very few costumes made their appearance.  The streets were crowded with sober Bretons, somewhat less sober than usual.  Every vehicle in the town had been pressed into the service.  Every omnibus was loaded inside and out; carts became objects of envy, and carriages were luxuries for which the drivers exacted their own terms.  The river-side, to right and left, was lined with people, all hurrying towards the distant shore; for though many had secured seats in one or other of the delectable vehicles, they were few in comparison with the numbers that, from motives of economy or exercise, preferred to walk.  It was a gay and lively scene, and, sober Bretons though they were, the air echoed with song and laughter.  Rioting there was none.

The distance was about five miles; but something more than the last mile had to be taken on foot by everyone.  We had secured a victoria which was not much larger than a bath chair, but in a crowd this had its advantage.  True, we felt every moment as if the whole thing would fall to pieces, but in case of shipwreck there were plenty to come to the rescue.

Nothing happened, and we walked our last mile with sound wind and limbs.  Much of the way lay on a hill-side.  Cottages were built on the slopes, and we walked upon zigzag paths, through front gardens and back gardens, now level with the ground floor window, now looking into an attic; and now—­if we wished—­able to peer down the chimney or join the cats oh the roof.

At last we came to the sea, which stretched away in all its beauty, shining and shimmering in the sunshine.  In the bay formed by this and the opposite coast, the boats taking part in the races were flitting about like white-winged messengers, full of life and grace and buoyancy.  Some of the races were over, some were in progress.