_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. When she noticed me, she gave me a look of uneasy interrogation. She was of medium height, sturdy, brown-eyed, and sunburnt. Her face had a remarkable expression of frankness and good temper. "What can I do to serve you, monsieur?" she asked, with a half courtesy, which was no doubt due to my poor old pony, and my costume of gentleman-farmer, as the English say. "It is beginning to rain, madame. Will you permit me to wait here awhile under shelter, and tell me if I am very far from the village of Blémur?" This question was nothing but a pretext to gain time, and try to discover the Desdemona.