Fortunately I had remembered my promise of a year ago; this sheep on wheels for little Pierre is in my trunk. And I have brought also some candlesticks with owls' heads on them (heads of the _parrots of France_) which I had promised to my other baby--Yves. And here is the house, gay and white and new, with its Breton window frames, its green shutters, its attic store-room, and, behind, the horizon of the woods. We enter. Below in the open-hearthed kitchen, Marie and little Corentine are waiting for us. But, immediately, Yves hurries me away, impatient that I should see their handsome white room upstairs, with its muslin curtains and its cherry wood furniture. And then he opens another door. "And now, brother, you are in your own room?" And he looks at me, anxious to see the effect produced, after all the pains his wife and he have taken to ensure that I should find everything to my taste. I enter, touched, moved. It is all white, my room, and filled with a delicious fragrance. There are flowers everywhere, flowers which they have gone very far to find for me; in vases on the mantelpiece, bunches of mignonette and large bouquets of sweetpeas; in the fireplace, a mass of heather. But they could not bring themselves to put in my room the old furniture, the old Breton odds and ends, and they excused themselves saying they had found nothing that seemed to them nice enough and suitable enough; and so they had gone to Quimper and bought me a bed like their own, in cherry wood, a light wood, bright and slightly reddish in colour. The tables and chairs are of the same wood. The smallest details have been arranged with tender thought; on the walls, in gilt frames, are drawings which I had made in earlier days and a large photograph of the tower of Saint Pol-de-Léon, which I had given Yves at the time when we were together in the misty waters of the North. The boards of the floor are as clean as newly-sawn wood. "You see, brother, everything is as spotless as on board," says Yves, who himself has taken the greatest pains to make it so, and who removes his shoes whenever he goes up so that he may not dirty the stairs. And I must see everything, go everywhere, even into the store-room where the potatoes are laid by, and the logs of wood for the winter; even into the little vestibule of the staircase where is suspended, like the _ex-voto_ of a sailor in a chapel of the Virgin, a miniature ship which Yves had made during his spare time in the crow's nest of the _Primauguet_; and finally into the garden where the strawberries and various green things are beginning to push up their fresh shoots in long neat rows.