we have St. Thégonnec, Guimiliau, St. Jean-du-Doigt--and last and
greatest of all--Le Folgoët. Besides these, we have a host of minor but
interesting excursions."

"The minor must be left to the future," we replied; "for the present we
must confine ourselves to the major monuments."

"One can't do everything," chimed in Madame Hellard, who came up at the
moment. "I never recommend small excursions unless you are making a long
stay in the neighbourhood. It becomes too tiring. We had a charming
English family with us last year; a milord, very rich--they are all
rich--with a sweetly amiable wife, who made herself in the hotel quite
one of ourselves, and would chatter with us in my bureau by the hour
together. Mon cher"--to her husband--"do you remember how they enjoyed
the regatta, and seeing all the natives turn out in their Sunday
clothes; and how Madame laughed at the old women who fried the pancakes
upon their knees in the open air; and the boys and girls who took them
up hot and buttery in their fingers and devoured them like savages? Do
you remember?"

Monsieur Hellard apparently did remember, and shook with laughter at the
recollection of that or of something equally droll.

"I shall never forget Madame's look of astonishment," he cried, "as the
pancakes were turned out of the poële, and disappeared wholesale like
lightning." 'Ah, madame,' I said, 'you have yet to learn the capacious
appetites of our Breton boys and girls. It is one of the few things in
which they are not slow and phlegmatic.'

"'And have not improved in,' laughed Madame. 'These habits are the