frightfully.

"When I was twenty-five I undertook a walking tour through Brittany with
one of my friends, now a member of the cabinet.

"After walking steadily for fifteen or twenty days and visiting the
Cotes-du-Nord and part of Finistere we reached Douarnenez. From there we
went without halting to the wild promontory of Raz by the bay of Les
Trepaases, and passed the night in a village whose name ends in 'of.' The
next morning a strange lassitude kept my friend in bed; I say bed from
habit, for our couch consisted simply of two bundles of straw.

"It would never do to be ill in this place. So I made him get up, and we
reached Andierne about four or five o'clock in the evening.

"The following day he felt a little better, and we set out again. But on
the road he was seized with intolerable pain, and we could scarcely get
as far as Pont Labbe.

"Here, at least, there was an inn. My friend went to bed, and the doctor,
who had been sent for from Quimper, announced that he had a high fever,
without being able to determine its nature.

"Do you know Pont Labbe? No? Well, then, it is the most Breton of all
this Breton Brittany, which extends from the promontory of Raz to the
Morbihan, of this land which contains the essence of the Breton manners,
legends and customs. Even to-day this corner of the country has scarcely
changed. I say 'even to-day,' for I now go there every year, alas!

"An old chateau laves the walls of its towers in a great melancholy pond,