"Sent a storm, so the attempt was abandoned, and Monsieur Howe stood off to sea, where many of his transports were dashed to pieces."
"Many must have perished, and among them may be some of my dear friends!" said I, sadly.
"I hope not, monsieur. But your people should not have landed in Brittany, which has ever been the best bulwark of France—'La Bretagne, Brettonnante,' as we say. When the wild Norseman menaced our shores, in the days of King Dagobert, it was here they met with the most bloody resistance. Here Bertrand de Gruesclin routed the English in the days of Charles VI., and here, too, were they defeated in the days of Charles VII. by Arthur Count of Richemont, who was Constable of France and Duke of Bretagne; while in the last century your fleets were swept from our shores by those of Du Guay Trouin. So excuse me saying, mon ami, that you were most unwise to attack our old Celtic province of Brittany."
I could scarcely conceal a smile at this little bit of gasconade, when I remembered how much mischief we had done to government property, the ships and stores we had destroyed, unopposed by any armed force save a few hussars; but the loveliness of the lips that spoke repressed the rising spirit of retort.
"However," she added, smiling, "I am a Parisienne—not a Bretonne."
"And why—why——"
"What, monsieur le soldat?"
"Why banished to this wild province?"
"I am not banished, as you unpleasantly term it," said she, colouring; "but while my father is at the head of an army in Germany, he prefers that I should reside here, with my aunt, Madame de Bourgneuf. But we have talked too long, and I must have wearied you."
"You, mademoiselle!" I was beginning, when she rose and said—