"No one ever leaves our neighbourhood without having seen le Folgoet,"
said M. Hellard. "Or if he does so he loses the best thing we can offer
him in the way of excursions. Also, he must expect no luck in his future
travels through Brittany."
[Illustration: MORLAIX.]
"And he must be looked upon in the light of a _barbare_," chimed in
Madame. "Not to do le Folgoet would be almost as bad as not going to
confession in Lent."
"My dear, did _you_ go to confession in Lent?" asked Monsieur, slily.
"Monsieur Hellard," laughed Madame, blushing furiously, "I am a good
Catholic. Ask no questions. We were speaking of Folgoet. Everyone should
go there."
"Is the excursion, then, to be looked upon as a pilgrimage, or a
penance?" we asked. "Will it absolve us from our sins, or grant us
indulgences? Is there some charm in its stones, or can we drink of its
waters and return to our first youth?"
"The magic spring!" laughed Mme. Hellard. "You will find it at the back
of the church. I have drunk of its waters, certainly; on a very hot day
last summer. They refreshed me, but I still feel myself mortal."
"Ah, yes," cried Monsieur, "the waters of Lethe and the elixir vitae have
equally to be discovered. I imagine that they belong to Paradise--and we
have lost Paradise, you know: though I have found my Eve," added
Monsieur, with a gallant bow to his cara sposa; "and have been in
Paradise ever since."
"_You_, apparently, have found and drunk of the waters of Lethe,"
laughed Madame.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94