When we entered Morlaix the sun had set; table d'hote was not over, and
we knew that Catherine had our places and our welfare in her special
keeping; and the driver having done his best on the road, and having
fallen asleep not more than five times on his box, we forgot our
threat, and dismissed him with a _pourboire_, for which he returned us a
Breton benediction.
[Illustration: BRITTANY PEASANTS.]
Once again the next day was kindly, the sun shone, the sky was
unclouded. These are rare days in Brittany, which, surrounded on three
sides by water, lives in an atmosphere that is always damp and too often
gloomy and depressing.
Mindful of our host's wise counsel to profit by the fine weather, we
started for St. Jean-du-Doigt.
This time our drive lay in a different direction. Yesterday it had been
inland, to-day it was towards the sea-coast. The country for some time
was sad and barren-looking, but as we approached St. Jean and the coast
it became more interesting and fertile.
Lanmeur, a small town not far from St. Jean, lies in a rather sad and
solitary plain, and is said to occupy the site of a city of great
antiquity.
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