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 fête 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.