In following, out of curiosity, the trace of the boar, whose presence in the forest had been unknown up to this time, I left the edge of the woods and plunged deep into the undergrowth. After walking about three leagues I arrived at a little farm, called the ferme des Prés, which was situated on the confines of immense fields. Here I lost trace of the wild boar.
This farm had recently been leased to a widow, named Madame Kerouët. My superintendent had spoken to me of the great activity of this woman, who came from the neighbourhood of Nantes, the death of her husband having caused her to quit the place that she helped him to farm in Brittany. I thought I would profit by the chance that had led me to the farm to make the acquaintance of my new tenant.
La ferme des Prés was in a very picturesque situation. Its principal building, surrounded by a vast courtyard, backed up on the edge of the forest. This habitation, which had formerly been a hunting lodge, was built in the form of a little castle, flanked by two towers. An arched doorway, surmounted by a coat-of-arms, led in to the ground floor. Time had given a gray colouring to these old walls, which were built with antique solidity. The tiles of the roof were all covered with moss, and clouds of pigeons swarmed around the pointed cone of one of the towers which had been changed into a pigeon-house.
Contrary to the custom of most of our farmers, the courtyard of the farm, instead of being littered with rubbish, was extremely clean and well kept. The ploughs, the harrows, the drills, were all newly painted of a fine olive-green colour, and were symmetrically arranged under a vast shed, along with the harness of the workhorses and yokes of the oxen.
A thick trellis divided the courtyard in its entire length, and separated it into two parts, one of which was given up to fowls of every kind, while the other was well sprinkled sand the colour of yellow ochre, and led up to the arched door of the little manor-house, on each side of which were great clumps of hollyhocks and sunflowers.
I was examining with satisfaction the exterior of the farmhouse, when I heard with the greatest surprise the harmonious warbling of a sweet, clear voice.
These sounds seemed to come from a little window. It was high and narrow, and was placed near the middle of one of the towers, where it was curtained by the thick vines of the morning-glory and nasturtiums.
After preluding thus, the voice was silent for awhile, but soon broke out again, singing the romance of the willow from Rossini's "Othello."
The voice was of remarkable quality, and showed high cultivation. It was very expressive, and full of sweetness and sadness.
I was greatly astonished. The song had ceased and I was still listening, when I saw a woman of fifty or thereabouts appear on the sill of the little arched doorway. She wore a black dress and a cap which was as white as the snow.