Publisher's Synopsis
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appallingstories in my collection. But each one has its proper hour in aconversation-you know the pretty jest recorded by Chamfort, and said to the Duc de Fronsac: 'Between your sally and thepresent moment lie ten bottles of champagne.'""But it is two in the morning, and the story of Rosina hasprepared us," said the mistress of the house."Tell us, Monsieur Bianchon!" was the cry on every side.The obliging doctor bowed, and silence reigned."At about a hundred paces from Vendôme, on the banks of theLoir," said he, "stands an old brown house, crowned with veryhigh roofs, and so completely isolated that there is nothing near it, not even a fetid tannery or a squalid tavern, such as are commonlyseen outside small towns. In front of this house is a garden downto the river, where the box shrubs, formerly clipped close to edgethe walks, now straggle at their own will. A few willows, rooted inthe stream, have grown up quickly like an enclosing fence, and halfhide the house. The wild plants we call weeds have clothed thebank with their beautiful luxuriance. The fruit-trees, neglected forthese ten years past, no longer bear a crop, and their suckers haveformed a thicket. The espaliers are like a copse. The paths, oncegraveled, are overgrown with purslane; but, to be accurate there isno trace of a path.
