There are places that you don't find by chance. This one, for example.

A road that gets lost, cypresses that lean in the wind like in an old painting, the Gers at its sweetest. Not a sound, barely a bell tower ringing, and the Pyrenees in the distance, like a promise.
We are close to Lectoure, but not too close. Just enough to go for a coffee and read the local press in the morning, meet two friendly faces, grab something to eat and then come back quickly. To find calm. Close the rack.

It looks a lot like it, but it's not the Luberon, and so much the better. No crowded terraces, no warm rosé under overplayed arbours, no snobs with sunglasses so that we don't see that they are complete strangers. Here, luxury is elsewhere. In silence. In space. In this way of not being noticed.

The house seems to have never wanted to be anything other than what it is: a set of stone buildings, placed there with a certain obviousness. Like a private hamlet, but without folklore. The roofs are just right, the materials have lived, the walls are thick. There is a certain idea of discretion.

Nothing is garish. Everything is there, however.
The volumes. Light. Materials chosen for their truth rather than their effect. Wood, stone, lime. Sometimes a more contemporary detail, but slipped in just to emphasize. There is taste, real taste, not this ostentatious good taste that tires. It is a house that knows restraint. And that's rare.

First of all, there is the main house — large, sober, comfortable without pretension. It makes you want to stay, to cook, to read, not to answer the phone.
And then, a little apart, there is the gîte. A real one. Not a DIY annex to make weekends profitable. No. A place apart, independent, cared for with the same high standards. Enough to welcome without imposing, to share without disturbing. A house within a house, in short. For friends, family, or no one.

It is a house to live in all year round, or to be found each season as one reopens a beloved book. A house apart, in its own right. It doesn't try to please everyone — and that's what makes it valuable. It awaits those who know. You can come there with books, records, silences. Or do nothing about it. That would already be a lot.

Everything is ready. Turnkey, as they say. But the key here is above all that of intimacy. A door that you close gently behind you.
And the world can go on without you.