“We have passed the whole day in visiting the castle, the farms, the woods, the stables.  We are delighted with what we have seen.  Only, Monsieur le Cure, there is one thing about which I feel curious.  I know that the place was sold yesterday; but I have not dared to ask either agent or farmer who accompanied me in my walk—­for my ignorance would have seemed too absurd—­I have not dared to ask how much it cost.  In the telegram my husband does not mention the sum.  Since I am so delighted with the place, the price is only a detail, but still I should like to know it.  Tell me, Monsieur le Cure, do you know what it cost?”

“An enormous price,” replied the Cure, “for many hopes and many ambitions were excited about Longueval.”

“An enormous price!  You frighten me.  How much exactly?”

“Three millions!”

“Is that all?  Is that all?” cried Mrs. Scott.  “The castle, the farms, the forest, all for three millions?”

“But that is nothing,” said Bettina.  “That delicious little stream which wanders through the park is alone worth three millions.”

“And you said just now, Monsieur le Cure, that there were several persons who disputed the purchase with us?”

“Yes, Mrs. Scott.”

“And, after the sale, was my name mentioned among these persons?”

“Certainly it was.”

“And when my name was mentioned was there no one there who spoke of me?  Yes, yes, your silence is a sufficient answer; they did speak of me.  Well, Monsieur le Cure, I am now serious, very serious.  I beg you as a favor to tell me what was said.”

“But,” replied the poor Cure, who felt himself upon burning coals, “they spoke of your large fortune.”

“Yes, of course, they would be obliged to speak of that, and no doubt they said that I was very rich, but had not been rich long—­that I was a parvenu.  Very well, but that is not all; they must have said something else.”

“No, indeed; I have heard nothing else.”

“Oh, Monsieur le Cure, that is what you may call a white lie, and it is making you very unhappy, because naturally you are the soul of truth; but if I torment you thus it is because I have the greatest interest in knowing what was said.”

“You are right,” interrupted Jean, “you are right.  They said you were one of the most elegant, the most brilliant, and the—­”

“And one of the prettiest women in Paris.  With a little indulgence they might say that; but that is not all yet—­there is something else.”

“Oh!  I assure you—­”

“Yes, there is something else, and I should like to hear it this very moment, and I should like the information to be very frank and very exact.  It seems to me that I am in a lucky vein to-day, and I feel as if you were both a little inclined to be my friends, and that you will be so entirely some day.  Well, tell me if I am right in supposing that should false and absurd stories be told about me you will help me to contradict them.”