CHAPTER IV.
QUIBERON.
In Quiberon, we breakfasted at old Rohan Belle-Isle's, who keeps the Hotel Penthievre.

This gentleman had his bare feet stuck in old slippers, on account of the heat, and was drinking with a mason, a fact which does not prevent him from being the descendant of one of the first families of Europe; an aristocrat of the old stock! a real aristocrat! _Vive Dieu!_ He immediately set to work to pound a steak and to cook us some lobsters.

Our pride was flattered to its innermost fibre.
The past of Quiberon is concentrated in a massacre.

Its greatest curiosity is a cemetery, which is filled to its utmost capacity and overflows into the street.

The head-stones are crowded together and invade and submerge one another, as if the corpses were uncomfortable in their graves and had lifted up their shoulders to escape from them.