Dinard

Our Breton sailors and our Basque mountaineers were not less foreign to the Parisian drawing-room than was a Ziadé or the little Rahahou.

One claimed to have a knowledge of Brittany or of the Pyrenees because one had visited Dinard or Biarritz, while in reality neither Tahiti nor the isle of Puk could have remained more completely unknown to us.

The developments of human industry have brought the extremities of the world nearer together; but the soul of each race continues to cloak itself in its own individuality and to remain a mystery to the rest of the world.

One trait alone is common to all, the infinite sadness of human destiny.

To the right, Grand Bé, a corner of Saint-Hélier, the Pointe du Décollé, and Cape Fréhel.

To the left, the jetty and the mole, the mouth of the Rance, the beach of Prahec near Dinard, and the gray dome of Saint-Servan.

Formerly, Saint-Malo was an island, and perhaps Captain Antifer regretted the time when he would have been called an islander.

But the ancient Aran has become a peninsula, and he has to make the best of it.

He had been born in the painted cabin of a canal barge, and in a barge he had spent his life.

First as a hand, then as captain of the Charmante Amelie.

He had been up and down the Rance from Dinard to Dinan, from Dinan to Plumago to return with a load of wood, of wine, of coal, according to the trade.

He hardly knew of any other river.

The rocks cast strange violet shadows over the sand.

Dinard lay across the bay in the sunshine, and the distant pealing of bells came from some gray old churches in the distance.

Some children were paddling in the sea.

Their bare brown legs seemed to twinkle as they danced in and out of the water.

Uh, yes.

The very first one was to Dinard-

Oh, yes

...