er covetousness.

She went to the notary and told him about it. He advised her to accept
Chicot's offer, but said she ought to ask for an annuity of fifty
instead of thirty, as her farm was worth sixty thousand francs at the
lowest calculation.

"If you live for fifteen years longer," he said, "even then he will only
have paid forty-five thousand francs for it."

The old woman trembled with joy at this prospect of getting fifty crowns
a month, but she was still suspicious, fearing some trick, and she
remained a long time with the lawyer asking questions without being able
to make up her mind to go. At last she gave him instructions to draw up
the deed and returned home with her head in a whirl, just as if she had
drunk four jugs of new cider.

When Chicot came again to receive her answer she declared, after a
lot of persuading, that she could not make up her mind to agree to
his proposal, though she was all the time trembling lest he should not
consent to give the fifty crowns, but at last, when he grew urgent, she
told him what she expected for her farm.

He looked surprised and disappointed and refused.

Then, in order to convince him, she began to talk about the probable
duration of her life.

"I am certainly not likely to live more than five or six years longer.
I am nearly seventy-three, and far from strong, even considering my age.
The other evening I thought I was going to die, and could hardly manage
to crawl into bed."

But Chicot was not going to be taken in.

"Come, come, old lady, you are as strong as the church tower, and will
live till you are a hundred at least; you will no doubt see me put under
ground first."

The whole day was spent in discussing the money, and as the old woman
would not give in, the innkeeper consented to give the fifty crowns,
and she insisted upon having ten crowns over and above to strike the
bargain.

Three years passed and the old dame did not seem to have grown a day
older. Chicot was in despair, and it seemed to him as if he had been
paying that annuity for fifty years, that he had been taken in, done,
ruined. From time to time he went to see the old lady, just as one goes
in July to see when the harvest is likely to begin. She always met
him with a cunning look, and one might have supposed that she was
congratulating herself on the trick she had played him. Seeing how well
and hearty she seemed he very soon got into his buggy again, growling to
himself:

"Will