Arthur

A strange chance put me in possession of this journal. I had established myself for several months in a central city in one of our southern departments, whose shore is bathed by the Mediterranean, and I was desirous of purchasing a country place in that marvellously picturesque land. I had already looked at several pieces of property when, one day, the notary, who had been giving me some necessary directions for one of my explorations, said to me: "I have just received notice that at about eight leagues from here, in one of the most beautiful situations in the world, neither too far nor too near to the sea, there is a country house for sale. I know nothing of it whatever; but if you would like to see it, monsieur, here are the precise directions how to find it. You will have to arrange the affair with the curé of the village of ——."

"What!" said I, "with the curé? You don't suppose that it is the presbytery that is for sale?"

"I know nothing about it," answered the lawyer; "but, judging from the high price that they ask, I hardly think it can be a parsonage. Besides," added he, with a sly and convincing look, "it seems as though there would be a thousand ways of arranging an advantageous and private sale, because it is sold in consequence of sudden departure or a sudden death, I don't know exactly which; the fact is, there have been told so many absurd and stupid stories on the subject, that I should make myself ridiculous in repeating them all to you. What is certain, however, monsieur, is that such an opportunity is always a good one, and my correspondent assures me that there has been no end of money spent on the property."