"Well, have you any news from Paris?"

"Nothing for a whole week: it is odd, is it not?"

"I am always hoping that this sale may fall through; it drags on for so
very long; and I believe that Monsieur Derues, in spite of what your wife
wrote a month ago, has not as much money as he pretends to have. Do you
know that it is said that Monsieur Despeignes-Duplessis, Madame Derues'
relative, whose money they inherited, was assassinated?"

"Where did you hear that?"

"It is a common report in the country, and was brought here by a man who
came recently from Beauvais."

"Have the murderers been discovered?"

"Apparently not; justice seems unable to discover anything at all."

Monsieur de Lamotte hung his head, and his countenance assumed an
expression of painful thought, as though this news affected him
personally.

"Frankly," resumed the cure, "I believe you will remain Seigneur du
Buisson-Souef, and that I shall be spared the pain of writing another
name over your seat in the church of Villeneuve."

"The affair must be settled in a few days, for I can wait no longer; if
the purchaser be not Monsieur Derues, it will have to be someone else.