CHAPTER XXXIX. MERE MALHEUR.
La Corriveau, eager to commence her work of wickedness, took up herabode at the house of her ancient friend, Mere Malheur, whither she wenton the night of her first interview with Angelique.
It was a small house, built of uncut stones, with rough stone steps andlintels, a peaked roof, and low overhanging eaves, hiding itself underthe shadow of the cliff, so closely that it seemed to form a part of therock itself.
Its sole inmate, an old crone who had reached the last degree of woman'sugliness and woman's heartlessness,--Mere Malheur--sold fair winds tosuperstitious sailors and good luck to hunters and voyageurs. She wasnot a little suspected of dabbling in other forbidden things. Halfbelieving in her own impostures, she regarded La Corriveau with afeeling akin to worship, who in return for this devotion imparted to hera few secrets of minor importance in her diabolic arts.
La Corriveau was ever a welcome guest at the house of Mere Malheur, whofeasted her lavishly, and served her obsequiously, but did not presswith undue curiosity to learn her business in the city. The two womenunderstood one another well enough not to pry too closely into eachother's secrets.
On this occasion La Corriveau was more than usually reserved, and whileMere Malheur eagerly detailed to her all the doings and undoings thathad happened in her circle of acquaintance, she got little informationin return. She shrewdly concluded that La Corriveau had business on handwhich would not bear to be spoken of.
"When you need my help, ask for it without scruple, Dame Dodier," saidthe old crone. "I see you have something on hand that may need my aid. Iwould go into the fire to serve you, although I would not burn my fingerfor any other woman in the world, and you know it."
"Yes, I know it, Mere Malheur," La Corriveau spoke with an air ofsuperiority, "and you say rightly: I have something on hand which Icannot accomplish alone, and I need your help, although I cannot tellyou yet how or against whom."
"Is it a woman or a man? I will only ask that question, Dame Dodier,"said the crone, turning upon her a pair of green, inquisitive eyes.
"It is a woman, and so of course you will help me. Our sex for thebottom of all mischief, Mere Malheur! I do not know what women are madefor except to plague one another for the sake of worthless men!"
The old crone laughed a hideous laugh, and playfully pushed herlong fingers into the ribs of La Corriveau. "Made for! quotha! men'stemptation, to be sure, and the beginning of all mischief!"
"Pretty temptations you and I are, Mere Malheur!" replied La Corriveau,with a scornful laugh.
"Well, we were pretty temptations once! I will never give up that! Youmust own, Dame Dodier, we were both pretty temptations once!"
"Pshaw! I wish I had been a man, for my part," replied La Corriveau,impetuously. "It was a spiteful cross of fate to make me a woman!"
"But, Dame Dodier, I like to be a woman, I do. A man cannot be half aswicked as a woman, especially if she be young and pretty," said the oldwoman, laughing till the tears ran out of her bleared eyes.
"Nay, that is true, Mere Malheur; the fairest women in the world areever the worst! fair and false! fair and false! they are always so. Notone better than another. Satan's mark is upon all of us!" La Corriveaulooked an incarnation of Hecate as she uttered this calumny upon hersex.
"Ay, I have his mark on my knee, Dame Dodier," replied the crone. "Seehere! It was pricked once in the high court of Arras, but the fool judgedecided that it was a mole, and not a witch-mark! I escaped a red gownthat time, however. I laughed at his stupidity, and bewitched him forit in earnest. I was young and pretty then! He died in a year, and Satansat on his grave in the shape of a black cat until his friends set across over it. I like to be a woman, I do, it is so easy to be wicked,and so nice! I always tell the girls that, and they give me twice asmuch as if I had told them to be good and nice, as they call it! Pshaw!Nice! If only men knew us as we really are!"
"Well, I do not like women, Mere Malheur," replied La Corriveau; "theysneer at you and me and call us witch and sorceress, and they will lie,steal, kill, and do worse themselves for the sake of one man to-day, andcast him off for sake of another to-morrow! Wise Solomon found onlyone good woman in a thousand; the wisest man now finds not one in aworldful! It were better all of us were dead, Mere Malheur; but pour meout a glass of wine, for I am tired of tramping in the dark to the houseof that gay lady I told you of."
Mere Malheur poured out a glass of choice Beaume from a dame-jeannewhich she had received from a roguish sailor, who had stolen it from hisship.
"But you have not told me who she is, Dame Dodier," replied MereMalheur, refilling the glass of La Corriveau.
"Nor will I yet. She is fit to be your mistress and mine, whoever sheis; but I shall not go again to see her."
And La Corriveau did not again visit the house of Angelique. She hadreceived from her precise information respecting the movements of theIntendant. He had gone to the Trois Rivieres on urgent affairs, andmight be absent for a week.
Angelique had received from Varin, in reply to her eager question fornews, a short, falsified account of the proceedings in the Councilrelative to Caroline and of Bigot's indignant denial of all knowledge ofher.
Varin, as a member of the Council, dared not reveal the truth, but wouldgive his familiars half-hints, or tell to others elaborate lies, whenpressed for information. He did not, in this case, even hint at the factthat a search was to be made for Caroline. Had he done so, Angeliquewould herself have given secret information to the Governor to orderthe search of Beaumanoir, and thus got her rival out of the way withouttrouble, risk, or crime.
But it was not to be. The little word that would have set her activespirit on fire to aid in the search for Caroline was not spoken, and herthoughts remained immovably fixed upon her death.
But if Angelique had been misled by Varin as to what had passed at theCouncil, Mere Malheur, through her intercourse with a servant of Varin,had learned the truth. An eavesdropping groom had overheard hismaster and the Intendant conversing on the letters of the Baron and LaPompadour. The man told his sweetheart, who, coming with some stolensweetmeats to Mere Malheur, told her, who in turn was not long inimparting what she had heard to La Corriveau.
La Corriveau did not fail to see that, should Angelique discover thather rival was to be searched for, and taken to France if found, shewould at once change her mind, and Caroline would be got rid of withoutneed of her interference. But La Corriveau had got her hand in the dish.She was not one to lose her promised reward or miss the chance of socursed a deed by any untimely avowal of what she knew.
So Angelique was doomed to remain in ignorance until too late. Shebecame the dupe of her own passions and the dupe of La Corriveau, whocarefully concealed from her a secret so important.
Bigot's denial in the Council weighed nothing with her. She felt certainthat the lady was no other than Caroline de St. Castin. Angeliquewas acute enough to perceive that Bigot's bold assertion that he knewnothing of her bound him in a chain of obligation never to confessafterwards aught to the contrary. She eagerly persuaded herself that hewould not regret to hear that Caroline had died by some sudden and, toappearance, natural death, and thus relieved him of a danger, and her ofan obstacle to her marriage.
Without making a full confidant of Mere Malheur, La Corriveau resolvedto make use of her in carrying out her diabolical scheme. Mere Malheurhad once been a servant at Beaumanoir. She knew the house, and in herheyday of youth and levity had often smuggled herself in and out by thesubterranean passage which connected the solitary watchtower with thevaults of the Chateau. Mere Malheur knew Dame Tremblay, who, as theCharming Josephine, had often consulted her upon the perplexities of aheart divided among too many lovers.
The memory of that fragrant period of her life was the freshest andpleasantest of all Dame Tremblay's experience. It was like the odor ofnew-mown hay, telling of early summer and frolics in the green fields.She liked nothing better than to talk it all over in her snug room withMere Malheur
, as they sat opposite one another at her little table,each with a cup of tea in her hand, well laced with brandy, which was afavorite weakness of them both.
Dame Tremblay was, in private, neither nice nor squeamish as to thenature of her gossip. She and the old fortune-teller, when out of sightof the rest of the servants, had always a dish of the choicest scandalfresh from the city.
La Corriveau resolved to send Mere Malheur to Beaumanoir, under thepretence of paying a visit to Dame Tremblay, in order to open a wayof communication between herself and Caroline. She had learned enoughduring her brief interview with Caroline in the forest of St. Valier,and from what she now heard respecting the Baron de St. Castin, toconvince her that this was no other than his missing daughter.
"If Caroline could only be induced to admit La Corriveau into her secretchamber and take her into her confidence, the rest--all the rest,"muttered the hag to herself, with terrible emphasis, "would be easy, andmy reward sure. But that reward shall be measured in my own bushel, notin yours, Mademoiselle des Meloises, when the deed is done!"
La Corriveau knew the power such a secret would enable her to exerciseover Angelique. She already regarded the half of her reputed riches asher own. "Neither she nor the Intendant will ever dare neglect me afterthat!" said she. "When once Angelique shall be linked in with me by asecret compact of blood, the fortune of La Corriveau is made. Ifthe death of this girl be the elixir of life to you, it shall be thetouchstone of fortune forever to La Corriveau!"
Mere Malheur was next day despatched on a visit to her old gossip, DameTremblay. She had been well tutored on every point, what to say and howto demean herself. She bore a letter to Caroline, written in the Italianhand of La Corriveau, who had learned to write well from her mother,Marie Exili.
The mere possession of the art of writing was a rarity in those days inthe class among whom she lived. La Corriveau's ability to write at allwas a circumstance as remarkable to her illiterate neighbors as thepossession of the black art which they ascribed to her, and not withouta strong suspicion that it had the same origin.
Mere Malheur, in anticipation of a cup of tea and brandy with DameTremblay, had dressed herself with some appearance of smartness ina clean striped gown of linsey. A peaked Artois hat surmounted abroad-frilled cap, which left visible some tresses of coarse gray hairand a pair of silver ear-rings, which dangled with every motion ofher head. Her shoes displayed broad buckles of brass, and her shortpetticoat showed a pair of stout ankles enclosed in red clockedstockings. She carried a crutched stick in her hand, by help of whichshe proceeded vigorously on her journey.
Starting in the morning, she trudged out of the city towards the ferryof Jean Le Nocher, who carefully crossed himself and his boat too as hetook Mere Malheur on board. He wafted her over in a hurry, as somethingto be got rid of as quickly as possible.
Mere Malheur tramped on, like a heavy gnome, through the fallen andflying leaves of the woods of Beaumanoir, caring nothing for the golden,hazy sky, the soft, balmy air, or the varicolored leaves--scarlet,yellow, and brown, of every shade and tinge--that hung upon the autumnaltrees.
A frosty night or two had ushered in the summer of St. Martin, as it wascalled by the habitans,--the Indian summer,--that brief time of gloryand enchantment which visits us like a gaudy herald to announce theapproach of the Winter King. It is Nature's last rejoicing in thesunshine and the open air, like the splendor and gaiety of a maidendevoted to the cloister, who for a few weeks is allowed to flutter likea bird of paradise amid the pleasures and gaieties of the world, andthen comes the end. Her locks of pride are shorn off; she veils herbeauty, and kneels a nun on the cold stones of her passionless cell, outof which, even with repentance, there comes no deliverance.
Mere Malheur's arrival at Beaumanoir was speedily known to all theservants of the Chateau. She did not often visit them, but when she didthere was a hurried recital of an Ave or two to avert any harm, followedby a patronizing welcome and a rummage for small coins to cross herhand withal in return for her solutions of the grave questions of love,jealousy, money, and marriage, which fermented secretly or openly in thebosoms of all of them. They were but human beings, food for imposture,and preyed on by deceivers. The visit of Mere Malheur was an event ofinterest in both kitchen and laundry of the Chateau.
Dame Tremblay had the first claim, however, upon this singular visitor.She met her at the back door of the Chateau, and with a face beamingwith smiles, and dropping all dignity, exclaimed,--
"Mere Malheur, upon my life! Welcome, you wicked old soul! you surelyknew I wanted to see you! come in and rest! you must be tired, unlessyou came on a broom! ha! ha! come to my room and never mind anybody!"
This last remark was made for the benefit of the servants who stoodpeeping at every door and corner, not daring to speak to the old womanin the presence of the housekeeper, but knowing that their time wouldcome, they had patience.
The housekeeper, giving them a severe look, proceeded to her own snugapartment, followed by the crone, whom she seated in her easiest chairand proceeded to refresh with a glass of cognac, which was swallowedwith much relish and wiping of lips, accompanied by a little artificialcough. Dame Tremblay kept a carafe of it in her room to raise thetemperature of her low spirits and vapors to summer heat, not that shedrank, far from it, but she liked to sip a little for her stomach'ssake.
"It is only a thimbleful I take now and then," she said. "When I wasthe Charming Josephine I used to kiss the cups I presented to the younggallants, and I took no more than a fly! but they always drank bumpersfrom the cup I kissed!" The old dame looked grave as she shook her headand remarked, "But we cannot be always young and handsome, can we, MereMalheur?"
"No, dame, but we can be jolly and fat, and that is what we are! Youdon't quaff life by thimblefuls, and you only want a stout offer to showthe world that you can trip as briskly to church yet as any girl in NewFrance!"
The humor of the old crone convulsed Dame Tremblay with laughter, as ifsome invisible fingers were tickling her wildly under the armpits.
She composed herself at last, and drawing her chair close to that ofMere Malheur, looked her inquiringly in the face and asked, "What is thenews?"
Dame Tremblay was endowed with more than the ordinary curiosity of hersex. She knew more news of city and country than any one else, andshe dispensed it as freely as she gathered. She never let her stock ofgossip run low, and never allowed man or woman to come to speak withher without pumping them dry of all they knew. A secret in anybody'spossession set her wild to possess it, and she gave no rest to herinordinate curiosity until she had fished it out of even the muddiestwaters.
The mystery that hung around Caroline was a source of perpetualirritation to the nerves of Dame Tremblay. She had tried as far as shedared by hint and suggestion to draw from the lady some reference toher name and family, but in vain. Caroline would avow nothing, and DameTremblay, completely baffled by a failure of ordinary means to find outthe secret, bethought herself of her old resource in case of perplexity,Mere Malheur.
For several days she had been brooding over this mode of satisfyingher curiosity, when the unexpected visit of Mere Malheur set asideall further hesitation about disobeying the Intendant's orders notto inquire or allow any other person to make inquisition respectingCaroline.
"Mere Malheur, you feel comfortable now!" said she. "That glass ofcognac has given you a color like a peony!"
"Yes, I am very comfortable now, dame! your cognac is heavenly: it warmswithout burning. That glass is the best news I have to tell of to-day!"
"Nay, but there is always something stirring in the city; somebody born,married, or dead; somebody courted, won, lost, or undone; somebody'sname up, somebody's reputation down! Tell me all you know, Mere Malheur!and then I will tell you something that will make you glad you came toBeaumanoir to-day. Take another sip of cognac and begin!"
"Ay, dame, that is indeed a temptation!" She took two deep sips, andholding her glass in her hand, began with loose tongue to rela
te thecurrent gossip of the city, which was already known to Dame Tremblay;but an ill-natured version of it from the lips of her visitor seemedto give it a fresh seasoning and a relish which it had not previouslypossessed.
"Now, Mere Malheur! I have a secret to tell you," said Dame Tremblay, ina low, confidential tone, "a dead secret, mind you, which you had betterbe burnt than reveal. There is a lady, a real lady if I ever saw one,living in the Chateau here in the greatest privacy. I and the Intendantonly see her. She is beautiful and full of sorrow as the picture ofthe blessed Madonna. What she is, I may guess; but who she is, I cannotconjecture, and would give my little finger to know!"
"Tut, dame!" replied Mere Malheur, with a touch of confidence, "I willnot believe any woman could keep a secret from you! But this is news,indeed, you tell me! A lady in concealment here, and you say you cannotfind her out, Dame Tremblay!"
"In truth, I cannot; I have tried every artifice, but she passes all mywit and skill. If she were a man, I would have drawn her very teeth outwith less difficulty than I have tried to extract the name of this lady.When I was the Charming Josephine of Lake Beauport, I could wind menlike a thread around which finger I liked; but this is a tangled knotwhich drives me to despair to unravel it."
"What do you know about her, dame? Tell me all you suspect!" said MereMalheur.
"Truly," replied the dame, without the least asperity, "I suspect thepoor thing, like the rest of us, is no better than she should be; andthe Intendant knows it, and Mademoiselle des Meloises knows it too; and,to judge by her constant prayers and penitence, she knows it herself buttoo well, and will not say it to me!"
"Ay, dame! but this is great news you tell me!" replied Mere Malheur,eagerly clutching at the opportunity thus offered for the desiredinterview. "But what help do you expect from me in the matter?"
Mere Malheur looked very expectant at her friend, who continued, "I wantyou to see that lady under promise of secrecy, mark you!--and look ather hands, and tell me who and what she is."
Dame Tremblay had an unlimited faith in the superstitions of her age.
"I will do all you wish, dame, but you must allow me to see heralone," replied the crone, who felt she was thus opening the door to LaCorriveau.
"To be sure I will,--that is, if she will consent to be seen, for shehas in some things a spirit of her own! I am afraid to push her tooclosely! The mystery of her is taking the flesh off my bones, and I canonly get sleep by taking strong possets, Mere Malheur! Feel my elbow!Feel my knee! I have not had so sharp an elbow or knee since GoodmanTremblay died! And he said I had the sharpest elbow and knee in thecity! But I had to punch him sometimes to keep him in order! But setthat horrid cap straight, Mere Malheur, while I go ask her if she wouldlike to have her fortune told. She is not a woman if she would not liketo know her fortune, for she is in despair, I think, with all the world;and when a woman is in despair, as I know by my own experience, she willjump at any chance for spite, if not for love, as I did when I took theSieur Tremblay by your advice, Mere Malheur!"
Dame Tremblay left the old crone making hideous faces in a mirror.She rubbed her cheeks and mouth with the corner of her apron as sheproceeded to the door of Caroline's apartment. She knocked gently, and alow, soft voice bade her enter.
Caroline was seated on a chair by the window, knitting her sad thoughtsinto a piece of work which she occasionally lifted from her lap with asudden start, as something broke the train of her reflections.
She was weighing over and over in her thoughts, like gold in a scale, bygrains and pennyweights, a few kind words lately spoken to her by Bigotwhen he ran in to bid her adieu before departing on his journey to TroisRivieres. They seemed a treasure inexhaustible as she kept on repeatingthem to herself. The pressure of his hand had been warmer, the toneof his voice softer, the glance of his eye more kind, and he lookedpityingly, she thought, upon her wan face when he left her in thegallery, and with a cheery voice and a kiss bade her take care of herhealth and win back the lost roses of Acadia.
These words passed through her mind with unceasing repetition, and awhite border of light was visible on the edge of the dark cloud whichhung over her. "The roses of Acadia will never bloom again," thought shesadly. "I have watered them with salt tears too long, and all in vain.O Bigot, I fear it is too late, too late!" Still, his last look and lastwords reflected a faint ray of hope and joy upon her pallid countenance.
Dame Tremblay entered the apartment, and while busying herself onpretence of setting it in order, talked in her garrulous way of thelittle incidents of daily life in the Chateau, and finished by amention, as if it were casual, of the arrival of the wise woman of thecity, who knew everything, who could interpret dreams, and tell, bylooking in a glass or in your hand, things past, present, and to come.
"A wonderful woman," Dame Tremblay said, "a perilous woman too, not safeto deal with; but for all that, every one runs after her, and she hasa good or bad word for every person who consults her. For my part,"continued the dame, "she foretold my marriage with the Goodman Tremblaylong before it happened, and she also foretold his death to the verymonth it happened. So I have reason to believe in her as well as to bethankful!"
Caroline listened attentively to the dame's remarks. She was notsuperstitious, but yet not above the beliefs of her age, while theIndian strain in her lineage and her familiarity with the traditionsof the Abenaquis inclined her to yield more than ordinary respect todreams.
Caroline had dreamed of riding on a coal-black horse, seated behind theveiled figure of a man whose face she could not see, who carried herlike the wind away to the ends of the earth, and there shut her up ina mountain for ages and ages, until a bright angel cleft the rock,and, clasping her in his arms, bore her up to light and liberty in thepresence of the Redeemer and of all the host of heaven.
This dream lay heavy on her mind. For the veiled figure she knew wasone she loved, but who had no honest love for her. Her mind had beenbrooding over the dream all day, and the announcement by Dame Tremblayof the presence in the Chateau of one who was able to interpret dreamsseemed a stroke of fortune, if not an act of Providence.
She roused herself up, and with more animation than Dame Tremblay hadyet seen in her countenance, requested her to send up the visitor, thatshe might ask her a question.
Mere Malheur was quickly summoned to the apartment of Caroline, whereDame Tremblay left them alone.
The repulsive look of the old crone sent a shock through the fine,nervous organization of the young girl. She requested Mere Malheur tobe seated, however, and in her gentle manner questioned her about thedream.
Mere Malheur was an adept in such things, and knew well how to humorhuman nature, and lead it to put its own interpretations upon its ownvisions and desires while giving all the credit of it to herself.
Mere Malheur therefore interpreted the dream according to Caroline'ssecret wishes. This inspired a sort of confidence, and Mere Malheurseized the opportunity to deliver the letter from La Corriveau.
"My Lady," said she, looking carefully round the room to note if thedoor was shut and no one was present, "I can tell you more than theinterpretation of your dream. I can tell who you are and why you arehere!"
Caroline started with a frightened look, and stared in the face of MereMalheur. She faltered out at length,--"You know who I am and why I amhere? Impossible! I never saw you before."
"No, my Lady, you never saw me before, but I will convince you that Iknow you. You are the daughter of the Baron de St. Castin! Is it notso?" The old crone looked frightfully knowing as she uttered thesewords.
"Mother of mercies! what shall I do?" ejaculated the alarmed girl. "Whoare you to say that?"
"I am but a messenger, my Lady. Listen! I am sent here to give yousecretly this letter from a friend who knows you better than I, and whoabove all things desires an interview with you, as she has things of thedeepest import to communicate."
"A letter! Oh, what mystery is all this? A letter for me! Is it from theIntendant?"
/> "No, my Lady, it is from a woman." Caroline blushed and trembled as shetook it from the old crone.
A woman! It flashed upon the mind of Caroline that the letter wasimportant. She opened it with trembling fingers, anticipating she knewnot what direful tidings when her eyes ran over the clear handwriting.
La Corriveau had written to the effect that she was an unknown friend,desirous of serving her in a moment of peril. The Baron de St.Castin had traced her to New France, and had procured from the Kinginstructions to the Governor to search for her everywhere and to sendher to France. Other things of great import, the writer said, she hadalso to communicate, if Caroline would grant her a private interview inthe Chateau.
There was a passage leading from the old deserted watch-tower to thevaulted chamber, continued the letter, and the writer would withoutfurther notice come on the following night to Beaumanoir, and knockat the arched door of her chamber about the hour of midnight, when,if Caroline pleased to admit her, she would gladly inform her of veryimportant matters relating to herself, to the Intendant, and to theBaron de St. Castin, who was on his way out to the Colony to conduct inperson the search after his lost daughter.
The letter concluded with the information that the Intendant had gone toTrois Rivieres, whence he might not return for a week, and that duringhis absence the Governor would probably order a search for her to bemade at Beaumanoir.
Caroline held the letter convulsively in her hand as she gathered itspurport rather than read it. Her face changed color, from a deep flushof shame to the palest hue of fear, when she comprehended its meaningand understood that her father was on his way to New France to find outher hiding-place.
"What shall I do! Oh, what shall I do!" exclaimed she, wringing herhands for very anguish, regardless of the presence of Mere Malheur, whostood observing her with eyes glittering with curiosity, but void ofevery mark of womanly sympathy or feeling.
"My father, my loving father!" continued Caroline, "my deeply-injuredfather coming here with anger in his face to drag me from myconcealment! I shall drop dead at his feet for very shame. Oh, thatI were buried alive with mountains piled over me to hide me from myfather! What shall I do? Whither shall I go? Bigot, Bigot, why have youforsaken me?"
Mere Malheur continued eyeing her with cold curiosity, but was ready atthe first moment to second the promptings of the evil spirit containedin the letter.
"Mademoiselle," said she, "there is but one way to escape from thesearch to be made by your father and the Governor,--take counsel ofher who sends you that friendly letter. She can offer you a safehiding-place until the storm blows over. Will you see her, my Lady?"
"See her! I, who dare see no one! Who is she that sends me such strangenews? Is it truth? Do you know her?" continued she, looking fixedlyat Mere Malheur, as if in hope of reading on her countenance somecontradiction of the matter contained in the letter.
"I think it is all true, my Lady," replied she, with mock humility; "Iam but a poor messenger, however, and speak not myself of things I donot know, but she who sends me will tell you all."
"Does the Intendant know her?"
"I think he told her to watch over your safety during his absence. Sheis old and your friend; will you see her?" replied Mere Malheur, who sawthe point was gained.
"Oh, yes, yes! tell her to come. Beseech her not to fail to come, orI shall go mad. O woman, you too are old and experienced and ought toknow,--can she help me in this strait, think you?" exclaimed Caroline,clasping her hands in a gesture of entreaty.
"No one is more able to help you," said the crone; "she can counsel youwhat to do, and if need be find means to conceal you from the searchthat will be made for you."
"Haste, then, and bid her come to-morrow night! Why not tonight?"Caroline was all nervous impatience. "I will wait her coming in thevaulted chamber; I will watch for her as one in the valley of deathwatches for the angel of deliverance. Bid her come, and at midnightto-morrow she shall find the door of the secret chamber open to admither."
The eagerness of the ill-fated girl to see La Corriveau outran everycalculation of Mere Malheur. It was in vain and useless for her to speakfurther on the subject; Caroline would say no more. Her thoughts ranviolently in the direction suggested by the artful letter. She wouldsee La Corriveau to-morrow night, and would make no more avowals to MereMalheur, she said to herself.
Seeing no more was to be got out of her, the crone bade her a formalfarewell, looking at her curiously as she did so, and wondering in hermind if she should ever see her again. For the old creature had a shrewdsuspicion that La Corriveau had not told her all her intentions withrespect to this singular girl.
Caroline returned her salute, still holding the letter in her hand. Shesat down to peruse it again, and observed not Mere Malheur's equivocalglance as she turned her eyes for the last time upon the innocent girl,doomed to receive the midnight visit from La Corriveau.
"There is death in the pot!" the crone muttered as she went out,--"LaCorriveau comes not here on her own errand either! That girl is toobeautiful to live, and to some one her death is worth gold! It will gohard, but La Corriveau shall share with me the reward of the work oftomorrow night!"
In the long gallery she encountered Dame Tremblay "ready to eat her up,"as she told La Corriveau afterwards, in the eagerness of her curiosityto learn the result of her interview with Caroline.
Mere Malheur was wary, and accustomed to fence with words. It wasnecessary to tell a long tale of circumstances to Dame Tremblay, but notnecessary nor desirable to tell the truth. The old crone therefore, assoon as she had seated herself in the easy chair of the housekeeper andrefreshed herself by twice accepting the dame's pressing invitation totea and cognac, related with uplifted hands and shaking head a narrativeof bold lies regarding what had really passed during her interview withCaroline.
"But who is she, Mere Malheur? Did she tell you her name? Did she showyou her palm?"
"Both, dame, both! She is a girl of Ville Marie who has run away fromher parents for love of the gallant Intendant, and is in hiding fromthem. They wanted to put her into the Convent to cure her of love. TheConvent always cures love, dame, beyond the power of philtres to reviveit!" and the old crone laughed inwardly to herself, as if she doubtedher own saying.
Eager to return to La Corriveau with the account of her successfulinterview with Caroline, she bade Dame Tremblay a hasty but formalfarewell, and with her crutched stick in her hand trudged stoutly backto the city.
Mere Malheur, while the sun was yet high, reached her cottage under therock, where La Corriveau was eagerly expecting her at the window. Themoment she entered, the masculine voice of La Corriveau was heard askingloudly,--
"Have you seen her, Mere Malheur? Did you give her the letter? Nevermind your hat! tell me before you take it off!" The old crone wastugging at the strings, and La Corriveau came to help her.
"Yes! she took your letter," replied she, impatiently. "She took mystory like spring water. Go at the stroke of twelve to-morrow night andshe will let you in, Dame Dodier; but will she let you out again, eh?"The crone stood with her hat in her hand, and looked with a wickedglance at La Corriveau.
"If she will let me in, I shall let myself out, Mere Malheur," repliedCorriveau in a low tone. "But why do you ask that?"
"Because I read mischief in your eye and see it twitching in your thumb,and you do not ask me to share your secret! Is it so bad as that, DameDodier?"
"Pshaw! you are sharing it! wait and you will see your share of it! Buttell me, Mere Malheur, how does she look, this mysterious lady of theChateau?" La Corriveau sat down, and placed her long, thin hand on thearm of the old crone.
"Like one doomed to die, because she is too good to live. Sorrow is abad pasture for a young creature like her to feed on, Dame Dodier!" wasthe answer, but it did not change a muscle on the face of La Corriveau.
"Ay! but there are worse pastures than sorrow for young creatures likeher, and she has found one of them," she replied, coldly.
> "Well! as we make our bed so must we lie on it, Dame Dodier,--that iswhat I always tell the silly young things who come to me asking theirfortunes; and the proverb pleases them. They always think the bridal bedmust be soft and well made, at any rate."
"They are fools! better make their death-bed than their bridal bed! ButI must see this piece of perfection of yours to-morrow night, dame! TheIntendant returns in two days, and he might remove her. Did she tell youabout him?"
"No! Bigot is a devil more powerful than the one we serve, dame. I fearhim!"
"Tut! I fear neither devil nor man. It was to be at the hour of twelve!Did you not say at the hour of twelve, Mere Malheur?"
"Yes! go in by the vaulted passage and knock at the secret door. Shewill admit you. But what will you do with her, Dame Dodier? Is shedoomed? Could you not be gentle with her, dame?"
There was a fall in the voice of Mere Malheur,--an intonation partlydue to fear of consequences, partly to a fibre of pity which--dry anddisused--something in the look of Caroline had stirred like a dead leafquivering in the wind.
"Tut! has she melted your old dry heart to pity, Mere Malheur! Ha, ha!who would have thought that! and yet I remember she made a soft fool ofme for a minute in the wood of St. Valier!" La Corriveau spoke in a hardtone, as if in reproving Mere Malheur she was also reproving herself.
"She is unlike any other woman I ever saw," replied the crone, ashamedof her unwonted sympathy. "The devil is clean out of her as he is out ofa church."
"You are a fool, Mere Malheur! Out of a church, quotha!" and LaCorriveau laughed a loud laugh; "why I go to church myself, and whispermy prayers backwards to keep on terms with the devil, who stands noddingbehind the altar to every one of my petitions,--that is more than somepeople get in return for their prayers," added she.
"I pray backwards in church too, dame, but I could never get sightof him there, as you do: something always blinds me!" and the two oldsinners laughed together at the thought of the devil's litanies theyrecited in the church.
"But how to get to Beaumanoir? I shall have to walk, as you did, MereMalheur. It is a vile road, and I must take the byway through theforest. It were worth my life to be seen on this visit," said LaCorriveau, conning on her fingers the difficulties of the by-path, whichshe was well acquainted with, however.
"There is a moon after nine, by which hour you can reach the wood ofBeaumanoir," observed the crone. "Are you sure you know the way, DameDodier?"
"As well as the way into my gown! I know an Indian canotier who willferry me across to Beauport, and say nothing. I dare not allow thatprying knave, Jean Le Nocher, or his sharp wife, to mark my movements."
"Well thought of, Dame Dodier; you are of a craft and subtlety to cheatSatan himself at a game of hide and seek!" The crone looked with genuineadmiration, almost worship, at La Corriveau as she said this; "but Idoubt he will find both of us at last, dame, when we have got into ourlast corner."
"Well, vogue la galere!" exclaimed La Corriveau, starting up. "Let it goas it will! I shall walk to Beaumanoir, and I shall fancy I wear goldengarters and silver slippers to make the way easy and pleasant. But youmust be hungry, Mere, with your long tramp. I have a supper prepared foryou, so come and eat in the devil's name, or I shall be tempted to saygrace in nomine Domini, and choke you."
The two women went to a small table and sat down to a plentiful mealof such things as formed the dainties of persons of their rank oflife. Upon the table stood the dish of sweetmeats which the thievishmaidservant had brought to Mere Malheur with the groom's story of theconversation between Bigot and Varin, a story which, could Angeliquehave got hold of it, would have stopped at once her frightful plot tokill the unhappy Caroline.
"I were a fool to tell her that story of the groom's," muttered LaCorriveau to herself, "and spoil the fairest experiment of the aquatofana ever made, and ruin my own fortune too! I know a trick worth twoof that," and she laughed inwardly to herself a laugh which was repeatedin hell and made merry the ghosts of Beatrice Spara, Exili, and LaVoisin.
All next day La Corriveau kept closely to the house, but she foundmeans to communicate to Angelique her intention to visit Beaumanoir thatnight.
The news was grateful, yet strangely moving to Angelique; she trembledand turned pale, not for truth, but for doubt and dread of possiblefailure or discovery.
She sent by an unknown hand to the house of Mere Malheur a little basketcontaining a bouquet of roses so beautiful and fragrant that they mighthave been plucked in the garden of Eden.
La Corriveau carried the basket into an inner chamber, a small room,the window of which never saw the sun, but opened against the close,overhanging rock, which was so near that it might be touched by thehand. The dark, damp wall of the cliff shed a gloomy obscurity in theroom even at midday.
The small black eyes of La Corriveau glittered like poniards as sheopened the basket, and taking out the bouquet, found attached to it by aribbon a silken purse containing a number of glittering pieces of gold.She pressed the coins to her cheek, and even put them between her lipsto taste their sweetness, for money she loved beyond all things. Thepassion of her soul was avarice; her wickedness took its direction fromthe love of money, and scrupled at no iniquity for the sake of it.
She placed the purse carefully in her bosom, and took up the roses,regarding them with a strange look of admiration as she muttered, "Theyare beautiful and they are sweet! men would call them innocent! they arelike her who sent them, fair without as yet; like her who is toreceive them, fair within." She stood reflecting for a few moments, andexclaimed as she laid the bouquet upon the table,--
"Angelique des Meloises, you send your gold and your roses to me becauseyou believe me to be a worse demon than yourself, but you are worthy tobe crowned tonight with these roses as queen of hell and mistress ofall the witches that ever met in Grand Sabbat at the palace of Galienne,where Satan sits on a throne of gold!"
La Corriveau looked out of the window and saw a corner of the rock litup with the last ray of the setting sun. She knew it was time to preparefor her journey. She loosened her long black and gray elfin locks, andlet them fall dishevelled over her shoulders. Her thin, cruel lips weredrawn to a rigid line, and her eyes were filled with red fire asshe drew the casket of ebony out of her bosom and opened it with areverential touch, as a devotee would touch a shrine of relics. She tookout a small, gilded vial of antique shape, containing a clear, brightliquid, which, as she shook it up, seemed filled with a million sparksof fire.
Before drawing the glass stopper of the vial, La Corriveau folded ahandkerchief carefully over her mouth and nostrils, to avoid inhalingthe volatile essence of its poisonous contents. Then, holding thebouquet with one hand at arm's length, she sprinkled the glowing roseswith the transparent liquid from the vial which she held in the otherhand, repeating, in a low, harsh tone, the formula of an ancientincantation, which was one of the secrets imparted to Antonio Exili bythe terrible Beatrice Spara.
La Corriveau repeated by rote, as she had learned from her mother, theill-omened words, hardly knowing their meaning, beyond that they weresomething very potent, and very wicked, which had been handed downthrough generations of poisoners and witches from the times of heathenRome:
"'Hecaten voco! Voco Tisiphonem! Spargens avernales aquas, Te morti devoveo, te diris ago!"'
The terrible drops of the aqua tofana glittered like dew on the glowingflowers, taking away in a moment all their fragrance, while leaving alltheir beauty unimpaired. The poison sank into the very hearts of theroses, whence it breathed death from every petal and every leaf, leavingthem fair as she who had sent them, but fatal to the approach of lip ornostril, fit emblems of her unpitying hate and remorseless jealousy.
La Corriveau wrapped the bouquet in a medicated paper of silver tissue,which prevented the escape of the volatile death, and replacing theroses carefully in the basket, prepared for her departure to Beaumanoir.