CHAPTER VIII 



L' ENVOI 



The November of 1913 set in cold and 

 grey, bringing with it the black, dark days 

 of the Misdhu, and my last night in 

 Brittany. For the past week I had 

 lingered on alone at the Lion d'Or to 

 finish a picture and to make a few last 

 studies. Well, they were done, and to- 

 night Jean Pierre would drive me to the 

 midnight train for Paris. I should join 

 my family there on the morrow. 



The bags were packed, and the last 

 strap buckled round my rods and painting 

 traps, when Anastasie's voice rang up the 

 stairs. 



Would I descend ? Monsieur le Maire 

 had come and sent his salutations. Below 

 I found him, wearing his bowler-hat, agog 

 with animation ; and with him were 

 the Greffier and other good folk who had 

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