So that magnificent estate, which for two centuries had passed intact from father to son in the Longueval family, was to be divided.  The bills announced, it was true, that after the preliminary sale of the four lots the highest bidder might bid for the whole estate.  But it was an enormous sum, and no purchaser was likely to present himself.

The Marquise de Longueval, dying six months since, had left three heirs, her grandchildren, two of whom were under age, so that the estate had to be put up for sale.  Pierre, the eldest, an extravagant young man of twenty-three, had foolishly squandered half his money, and was quite unable to re-purchase Longueval.

It was twelve o’clock.  In an hour the chateau would have a new master.  Who would he be?  Who could take the place of the marquise, the old friend of the country cure, and the kindly friend of all the villagers.  The old priest walked on, thinking sadly of the habits of thirty years suddenly interrupted.  Every Thursday and every Sunday he had dined at the chateau.  How much had they made of him!  Cure of Longueval!  All 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!”