this lonely spot, in a strange country, with a madman or one in utter despair."
But when I looked again at that strange meditating face the thought was dispelled. He was thoughtful, but not at all sad; nor was there either the excited or the sullen look of mania about those intellectual eyes. But still he looked on, silently watching the sea.
I was immensely puzzled, and was getting quite uncomfortable, for Galton had been entertaining me the evening before with a whole series of horrid Breton legends about the "White Lady," and the ghosts and the signs of death; and really here was a personage who, if he had been met at night, might have been easily taken for a revenant. But it was not night, and the sun was shining brightly, and the shadow of this stranger's curious figure was clearly defined on the chapel wall.
At last I thought it was useless and uncourteous to thus pretend not to heed him, and that it would be better to speak. So I broke the silence with a polite bow and a "Bonjour, monsieur."
"Good morning, sir; you are English, are you not?" he said, in a very sweet and clear contralto voice, and a singular but pleasing foreign accent.
