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Updated: June 15, 2025
All the town was there; some coming in from the sands, and those who had been left at home with babies or old folks running down from their houses. There was chaffing and bartering; exchanges agreed upon, and commissions innumerable to be intrusted to the men about to set out for Pontorson, the nearest town. Michel Lorio was going to sell his own fish, for who would carry it for him?
So let us give it all it wants and gorge the fool! The road from Pontorson to the Mont Saint-Michel is wearying on account of the sand. They became more numerous as we approached the sea, and defiled for several miles until we finally saw the deserted strand whence they came.
Aycon, know that I have also a cause. Will this morning suit you?" "It is hard on two now." "Precisely. We have time for a little rest; then I will order the carriage and we will drive together to Pontorson." "You mean that I should stay in your house?" "If you will so far honor me. I wish to settle this affair at once, so as to be moving." "I can but accept."
About the middle of the fourteenth century, Tiphaine de Raguenel, the wife of Bertrand du Guesclin, that splendid Breton soldier, came from Pontorson and made her home at Mont St Michel, in order not to be kept as a prisoner by the English. There are several facts recorded that throw light on the character of this noble lady, sometimes spoken of as "The Fair Maid of Dinan."
Au revoir;" and with a bow he left me, calling to Bontet to follow him upstairs and wait for the note which was to go to the officers at Pontorson. It must be admitted that the duke conducted the necessary arrangements with much tact. In a quarter of an hour my breakfast was before me, and I seated myself with my back to the door and my face to the window.
From the direction of Pontorson came Jacques Bontet the inn-keeper, slouching along and smoking a thin black cigar. "Ah! he has been to deliver the note to our friends the officers," said I to myself. And then I looked at the other familiar figure, which was that of Mme. Delhasse. She wore the bonnet and cloak which had been lying on the bed in her room at the time of my intrusion.
I ask again, because as I passed the inn on the way between here and Pontorson I saw in the courtyard " "Yes, yes, what?" cried I in sudden eagerness. "What's the matter, man? I saw a carriage with some luggage on it, and it looked like the duke's, and Hallo! Gilbert, where are you going?" "I can't wait, I can't wait!" I called, already three or four yards away.
Mad or not, in any case after three minutes I thought no more of my good friend Gustave de Berensac, nor of aught else, save the inn outside Pontorson, just where the old road used to turn toward Mont St. Michel. To that goal I pressed on, forgetting my weariness and my pain.
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