About nine o'clock the next morning I walked into the Groix Inn and sat
down at the long discoloured oaken table, nodding good-day to Marianne
Bruyère, who in turn bobbed her white coiffe at me.
"My clever Bannalec maid," said I, "what is good for a stirrup-cup at
the Groix Inn?"
"Schist?" she inquired in Breton.
"With a dash of red wine, then," I replied.
She brought the delicious Quimperlé cider, and I poured a little
Bordeaux into it. Marianne watched me with laughing black eyes.
"What makes your cheeks so red, Marianne?" I asked. "Has Jean Marie
been here?"
"We are to be married, Monsieur Darrel," she laughed.
"Ah! Since when has Jean Marie Tregunc lost his head?"
"His head? Oh, Monsieur Darrel--his heart, you mean!"
"So I do," said I. "Jean Marie is a practical fellow."
"It is all due to your kindness----" began the girl, but I raised my
hand and held up the glass.
"It's due to himself. To your happiness, Marianne;" and I took a hearty
draught of the schist. "Now," said I, "tell me where I can find Le
Bihan and Max Fortin."
"Monsieur Le Bihan and Monsieur Fortin are above in the broad room. I
believe they are examining the Red Admiral's effects."
"To send them to Paris? Oh, I know. May I go up, Marianne?"
"And God go with you," smiled the girl.
When I knocked at the door of the broad room above little Max Fortin
opened it. Dust covered his spectacles and nose; his hat, with the tiny
velvet ribbons fluttering, was all awry.
"Come in, Monsieur Darrel," he said; "the mayor and I are packing up
the effects of the Purple Emperor and of the poor Red Admiral."
"The collections?" I asked, entering the room. "You must be very
careful in packing those butterfly cases; the slightest jar might break
wings and antennæ, you know."
Le Bihan shook hands with me and pointed to the great pile of boxes.
"They're all cork lined," he said, "but Fortin and I are putting felt
around each box. The Entomological Society of Paris pays the freight."
The combined collections of the Red Admiral and the Purple Emperor made
a magnificent display.
I lifted and inspected case after case set with gorgeous butterflies
and moths, each specimen carefully labelled with the name in Latin.
There were cases filled with crimson tiger moths all aflame with
colour; cases devoted to the common yellow butterflies; symphonies in
orange and pale yellow; cases of soft gray and dun-coloured sphinx
moths; and cases of garish nettle-bred butterflies of the numerous
family of _Vanessa_.
All alone in a great case by itself was pinned the purple emperor, the
Apatura Iris, that fatal specimen that had given the Purple Emperor his
name and quietus.