his
life he had been that, had dreamed of nothing else. He loved his little
church, the little village, and his little vicarage.

Still in pensive mood, he was passing the park of Lavardens when he
heard some one calling him. Looking up, he saw the Countess of Lavardens
and her son Paul. She was a widow; her son a handsome young man, who had
made a bad start in the world and now contented himself by spending some
months in Paris every year, when he dissipated the annual allowance from
his mother, and returned home for the rest of the year to loaf about in
idleness or in pursuit of stupid sports.

"Where are you off to, Monsieur le Cure?" asked the countess.

"To Souvigny, to learn the result of the sale."

"Stay here with us. M. de Larnac is there, and will hasten back with the
news. But I can tell you who are the new owners of the castle."

At this the abbe turned into the gates of the countess's grounds, and
joined that lady and her son on the terrace of their house. The new
owners, it appeared, were to be M. de Larnac, M. Gallard, a rich Paris
banker, and the countess herself, for the three had agreed to purchase
it between them.

"It is all settled," the lady assured him. But presently M. de Larnac
arrived with the news that they had been unable to buy it, as some
American had paid an enormous sum for the entire estate. The person who
was now to be the great lady of Longueval was named Madame Scott.

M. de Larnac had some further particulars to add. He had heard that the
Scotts were great upstarts, and that the new owner of the castle had
actually been a beggar in New York. A great lawsuit had resulted in
favour of her and her husband, making them the owners of a silver-mine.

"And we are to have such people for neighbours!" exclaimed the countess.
"An adventuress, and no doubt a Protestant, Monsieur le Cure!"

The abbe was very sore at heart, and, never doubting but that the new
mistress of the castle would be no friend of his, he took his way
homeward. In his imagination he saw this Madame Scott settled at the
castle and despising his little Catholic church and all his simple
services to the quiet village folk.

He was still brooding over the unhappy fate of Longueval when his
godson, Jean Reynaud--son of his old friend Dr. Reynaud--to whom he had
been as good as a father, and who was worthy of the old priest's love,
dismounted at his door. For Jean was now a lieutenant in the artillery
stationed in th