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Updated: May 12, 2025
He spat upon the ground, and said: 'Pig of an Englishman, do you take me for a desecrator of graves?" I knew Tregunc, a sober, blue-eyed Breton, who lived from one year's end to the other without being able to afford a single bit of meat for a meal. "How much did the Englishman offer Tregunc?" I asked. "Two hundred francs for the skulls alone."
"They were murderers and thieves, but they are dead," said Tregunc, coming up from the beach below, his long sea rake balanced on his dripping jersey. "How much do you earn every year, Jean Marie?" I asked, turning to shake hands with him. "Two hundred and twenty francs, monsieur." "Forty-five dollars a year," I said. "Bah! you are worth more, Jean. Will you take care of my garden for me?
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