THE THRUSH 149 



Other day. . . . You see, it is necessary not to give in. . . . 

 and besides, added he in a low voice, I heard the thrush 

 singing- on the moor this evening, its song was never mer- 

 ri(M-. It s a prettv bird, sir! While I was listening to its 

 song, 1 was saying to myself: « I shall have luck to-night ! » 

 and so far reallv, I have no reason to he dissatisfied ! » 



I left Saint-Malo on the following day. I came back 

 this year, and the other chiy took a drive to Dinan, fol- 

 lowing the left bank of the Hance. On the load, one of 

 the bolts of the pole of my carriage having diopped, we 

 were obliged to halt going down hill. « Fortunately there 

 is a farrier at Saint-Jouan », said the driver : « if you would 

 be kind enough sir, to walk as far as that, it will take only 

 five minutes to have the pole repaired ». 



The name of Saint-Jouan awoke a slumbering recol- 

 lection in my mind. I recognized the landscape that I had 

 perceived years ago : the avenue of beeches, the slate- 

 covered roof of the manor, buried in the shining verdure 

 of thechesnut trees, and the moor where the thrushes were 

 singing as formerly. To the left of the road, at a turning, 

 I noticed a grey granite cross erected on a low hill; above 

 this cross maple trees were shaking their silvery leaves. 

 « Is there any one buried here? )i I asked of the driver. 



« Yes sir, the owner of « La Crochais «, that manor on 

 your right, a certain M. de Trehvau )>. Trelivan ! the name 

 was sufficient to bring the |)ast back to my mind. I saw 

 again before me my companion of yore with his I'obust 



