graceful course.

Having made a slight acquaintance with the old streets and ancient
houses, we went back to the inn, where we found the carriage ready to
take us to le Folgoët.

A strong wind had suddenly arisen and clouds of dust accompanied us.
Under ordinary circumstances the drive would have been pleasant, though
uneventful. The road is somewhat monotonous, and very little attracts
the attention beyond small, well-wooded estates, breaking in upon the
long stretches of richly cultivated country, where life ought to run in
a very even tenor.

After awhile we turned into a by-road, and presently descending between
high hedges, the object of our excursion suddenly and unexpectedly
opened up before our astonished vision.

It would be difficult to forget the effect of that first view of le
Folgoët. The high hedges on either side had concealed everything. These
fell away, and within a few yards of us, in a barren and dreary plain
uprose the wonderful church.

A few poor houses and cottages comprise the village, and here nearly a
thousand inhabitants manage to stow themselves away. But nothing strikes
you more in these Breton villages than their silent and apparently
deserted condition, even at midday. Nine times out of ten, there is
scarcely a creature to be seen in the streets, the house doors are for
the most part closed, no face peers curiously from the windows, and no
sound breaks upon the stillness of the air.