Angelus rings out in the evening, you will see the labourer, wending his
way homeward, suddenly arrest his steps in the ploughed field, and with
bent head, pass in silent prayer the dying moments of _crépuscule_.

There will scarcely be an exception to the rule, either in men or women.
The reverence has grown with their growth, having first been born with
them of inheritance: the heritage and the growth of centuries. All over
the country you will find Calvaries erected: huge stone crosses and
images of the Crucifixion, many of them crumbling and beautiful with the
lapse of ages, the stone steps at their base worn with the devotion of
pilgrims: crosses that stand out so solemnly and picturesquely in the
gloaming against the background of the grey, cold Breton skies, and give
a religious tone to the whole country.

The Bretons have ever remained a race apart, possessing their own
language, their own habits, manners and customs; not becoming absorbed
with other nations, nor absorbing in themselves any foreign element.
Separated from Normandy by no visible boundary line, divided by no
broad Channel, the Bretons are as different from the Normans as the
Normans are distinct from the English. They have a high standard of
integrity, of right and wrong, there is the distinct feeling of
_Noblesse oblige_ amongst them; their _noblesse_ consisting in the fact
that, being Breton, _il faut agir loyalement_. If they pass you their
word, you may be sure they will not go from it: it is as good as their
bond. They are a hundred years behind the rest of mankind, but there is
a great charm and a great compensation in their simplicity.

Normandy may be called the country of beautiful churches, Brittany of
beautiful towns.