The mistress received my compliments on the neatness of her house with evident pride. While I was speaking the door opened, and the young woman who sang so well came in. When she saw me, she blushed, and started out again. "Stay with us, Marie," Madame Kerouët said to her, affectionately. I could not look on the enchanting beauty of that face without thinking of the Holy Virgins of Raphaël. My admiration was so marked, my astonishment so great, on finding such beauty hidden in a farmhouse,--and I took no pains to conceal my feelings,--that Marie was quite taken back. "This is my niece, monsieur," said the _fermière_, who neither noticed my surprise nor Desdemona's trouble. "She is the daughter of my poor brother, lieutenant in the Old Guard, who was killed at Waterloo. Thanks to the protection of Monseigneur the Bishop of Nantes, we were permitted to send Marie to St. Denis, where she was educated like a demoiselle. She remained there until her marriage, which took place at Nantes about a year ago." Madame Kerouët said this with a sigh. Then she continued: "But sit down, monsieur; and thou, Marie, go get a bottle of wine and a bit of warm _galette._" "A thousand thanks, madame," said I, "I would rather not take anything. As soon as the rain is over I will continue on my journey." To keep herself in countenance, Marie sat down to her aunt's spinning-wheel. "Perhaps you are on your way to the château de Serval?" "Non, madame; I told you I was going to Blémur." "Ah, yes, to be sure, to Blémur; pardon, monsieur,--so much the better for you." "How is that, madame? Is the master of Serval inhospitable?" "I don't know anything about that, monsieur; but they do say that he has no more wish to see human faces than human faces have to see him," replied Madame Kerouët. "And why is that? Does he wish to live alone?" "Hum, hum!" said the _fermière_, shaking her head, "I have only just come to these parts, and don't know the truth of the ugly stories they tell about him; besides, monsieur, the count is our master, and a very good master, they say; so I won't speak of what is none of my business. But, Marie, you are tangling all my flax again," she called out to the young woman. "Never wilt thou know how to use a distaff; hand it to me." "And you, madame," I said to Marie, "have you any more certain information than madame your aunt as to the redoubtable inhabitant of Serval?" "No, monsieur, I have only heard them say that M. the count lived a very retired life; and as I love solitude myself, I can understand that others care for it as well." "You have so many means of charming your retreat, madame, that I can readily believe it must be attractive; in the first place, you are an excellent musician. I can say so, because I have just been fortunate enough to hear you sing." "And she can draw and paint, too," added Madame Kerouët, admiringly.