years, he did not give his parents' skulls the luxury of one
of these little black boxes. The remainder of the bodies is thrown into
the bone-house, and twenty-five years afterwards the heads are sent to
join them. A few years ago they tried to abolish the custom; but a riot
ensued and the practice continued.

Perhaps it is wicked to play with those round skulls which once
contained a mind, with those empty circles in which passion throbbed.
Those boxes surrounding the ossuary and scattered over the graves, over
the wall and in the grass, without any attempt at order, may appear
horrible to a few and ridiculous to many; but those black cases rotting
even as the bones blanch and crumble to dust; those skulls, with noses
eaten away and foreheads streaked by the slimy trails of snails, and
hollow, staring eyes; those thigh-bones piled up as in the great
charnel-houses mentioned in the Bible; those pieces of skulls lying
around filled with earth, in which a flower springs up sometimes and
grows through the holes of the eyes; even the vulgarity of those
inscriptions, which are as similar as the corpses they identify--all
this human rottenness appeared beautiful to us, and procured us a
splendid sight.

If the post of Auray had arrived, we should have started at once for
Belle-Isle; but they were waiting for it. Transient sailors with bare
arms and open shirts sat in the kitchen of the inn, drinking to pass
away the time.

"At what time is the post due here in Auray?"

"That depends; usually at ten o'clock," replied the innkeeper.

"No, at eleven," put in a man.

"At twelve," said M. de Rohan.

"At one."

"At half-past one."

"Sometimes it doesn't reach here until two o'clock."

"It isn't very regular!"

We were aware of that; it was already three. We could not start before
the arrival of this ill-fated messenger, which brings Belle-Isle the
despatches from _terra firma_, so we had to resign ourselves. Once in a
while some one would get up, go to the door, look out, come back, and
start up again. Oh! he will not come to-day.--He must have stopped on
the way.--Let's go home.--No, let's wait for him.--If, however, you are
tired of waiting gentlemen.... After all, there may not be any
letters.... No, just wait a little longer.--Oh! here he comes!--But it
was some one else, and the dialogue would begin all over again.

At last we heard the beating of tired hoofs on the cobblestones, the
tinkling of bells, the crac