I accompanied the curé's sister into a low hall, whose two white-curtained windows opened on a pretty little green garden.
The simple furniture of this room shone with cleanliness; a single armchair, covered with old embroidery, placed near a little table, on which stood a book-rack made of black wood, and an ivory crucifix, seemed to be the habitual seat of the priest. His sister's chair and her spinning-wheel stood near the other window. She seated herself, and began to spin, without vouchsafing a word. Believing her to be silent out of reserve, or from shyness, and wishing, besides, to satisfy my curiosity which the guide had so roused, I asked the woman if the place had been for sale a long time. The priest's sister answered me, with another sigh:
"It has been for sale for the last three months, monsieur."
"But, madame, do not the owners live in it any longer?"
"The owners," replied she, with a look of intense sadness, "non, monsieur, they do not live there any more." And, seeing that I was about to continue my questions, she added, with tears in her eyes: "Excuse me, monsieur, my brother will tell you all about it."
More and more astonished, but not daring to insist, I fell back on ordinary topics of conversation, the view, the beautiful situation, etc. In about half an hour some one knocked; it was the curé. His sister went to open the door for him, and informed him of the reason of my visit.
The priest, who was about thirty years old, wore the severe costume of his class. He was not misshapen, but in other respects was extremely like his sister. There was the same ugliness joined to the look of excessive goodness and sweetness, added to which was a frail and suffering appearance, for he was small, delicate, and pale. His Southern accent was less pronounced than that of his sister, and his manner, though reserved, was more polite than hers.
The abbé received me with a coldness which I attributed to his fear of finding me only another troublesome person come out of idle curiosity to inspect the place; for from the few words that his sister had let fall, I believed that some fatal event had taken place in this house, and that the curé might think that I, having heard some vague rumour, had come to find out some more circumstantial details.
Wishing to put him at ease, I told him frankly, and at once, that I was looking for a little country home, very isolated, very quiet, very lonely; that I had heard of this one as fulfilling all these requirements, and that I had been sent to him for full information on the subject. The glacial coolness of the abbé did not melt at my advances. After exchanging some insignificant remarks, he simply asked me if I would like to see the house.
I told him that I was absolutely at his orders, and we then rose to go out.