'cept as he's a Frenchman. I see him about often, prowlin' along
with his stick and his snuff-box, always alone, and sometimes he
nods at me and says `good-morning' as I go by."

In consequence of this information I resolved to make my way
immediately to the old priest's dwelling, and having acquainted
myself with the direction in which the house lay, I took leave of
my host, shouldered my bag once more, and set out en route. The
air was clear and sharp, and the crisp snow crackled pleasantly
under my Hessian boots as I strode along the country lanes. All
traces of cloud had totally disappeared from the sky, the sun looked
cheerfully down on me, and my morning's walk thoroughly refreshed
and invigorated me. In due time I arrived at the inn which had
been named to me as the abode of the Rev. M. Pierre,--a pretty
homely little nest, with an antique gable and portico. Addressing
myself to the elderly woman who answered my summons at the housedoor,
I inquired if I could see M. Pierre, and, in reply, received a
civil invitation to "step inside and wait." My suspense did not
last long, for M. Pierre made his appearance very promptly. He
was a tall, thin individual with a fried-looking complexion, keen
sunken eyes, and sparse hair streaked with grey. He entered the
room with a courteous bow and inquiring look. Rising from the
chair in which I had rested myself by the fire, I advanced towards
him and addressed him by name in my suavest tones. He inclined
his head and looked at me more inquiringly than before." I have
taken the liberty to request an interview with you this morning,"
continued I, "because I have been told that you may probably be
able to give me some information of which I am in search, with
regard to an old mansion in this part of the county, called
`Steepside,' and in which I spent last night."