"Why?" asked Angelique, sharply, wondering if Fanchon had conjectured anything of her aunt's business.

"They say she has dealings with that horrid Mere Malheur, and I believe it," replied Fanchon, with a shrug of disgust.

"Ah! do you think Mere Malheur knows her business or any of your aunt's secrets, Fanchon?" asked Angelique, thoroughly roused.

"I think she does, my Lady,--you cannot live in a chimney with another without both getting black alike, and Mere Malheur is a black witch as sure as my aunt is a white one," was Fanchon's reply.

"What said your aunt on leaving?" asked her mistress.

"I did not see her leave, my Lady; I only learned from Ambroise Gariepy that she had crossed the river this morning to return to St. Valier."

"And who is Ambroise Gariepy, Fanchon? You have a wide circle of acquaintance for a young girl, I think!" Angelique knew the dangers of gossiping too well not to fear Fanchon's imprudences.

"Yes, my Lady," replied Fanchon with affected simplicity, "Ambroise Gariepy keeps the Lion Vert and the ferry upon the south shore; he brings me news and sometimes a little present from the pack of the Basque pedlers,--he brought me this comb, my Lady!" Fanchon turned her head to show her mistress a superb comb in her thick black hair, and in her delight of talking of Ambroise Gariepy, the little inn of the ferry, and the cross that leaned like a failing memory over the grave of his former wife, Fanchon quite forgot to ease her mind further on the subject of La Corriveau, nor did Angelique resume the dangerous topic.

Fanchon's easy, shallow way of talking of her lover touched a sympathetic chord in the breast of her mistress. Grand passions were grand follies in Angelique's estimation, which she was less capable of appreciating than even her maid; but flirtation and coquetry, skin-deep only, she could understand, and relished beyond all other enjoyments.

It was just now like medicine to her racking thoughts to listen to Fanchon's shallow gossip.

She had done what she had done, she reflected, and it could not be undone! why should she give way to regret, and lose the prize for which she had staked so heavily? She would not do it! No, par Dieu! She had thrown Le Gardeur to the fishes for the sake of the Intendant, and had done that other deed! She shied off from the thought of it as from an uncouth thing in the dark, and began to feel shame of her weakness at having fainted at the tale of La Corriveau.

The light talk of Fanchon while dressing the long golden hair of her mistress and assisting her to put on a new riding-dress and the plumed hat fresh from Paris, which she had not yet displayed in public, did much to restore her equanimity.

Her face had, however, not recovered from its strange pallor. Her eager maid, anxious for the looks of her mistress, insisted on a little rouge, which Angelique's natural bloom had never before needed. She submitted, for she intended to look her best to-day, she said. "Who knows whom I shall fall in with?"

"That is right, my Lady," exclaimed Fanchon admiringly, "no one could be dressed perfectly as you are and be sick! I pity the gentleman you meet to-day, that is all! There is murder in your eye, my Lady!"

Poor Fanchon believed she was only complimenting her mistress, and at other times her remark would only have called forth a joyous laugh; now the word seemed like a sharp knife: it cut, and Angelique did not laugh.

She pushed her maid forcibly away from her, and was on the point of breaking out into some violent exclamation when, recalled by the amazed look of Fanchon, she turned the subject adroitly, and asked, "Where is my brother?"

"Gone with the Chevalier de Pean to the Palace, my Lady!" replied Fanchon, trembling all over, and wondering how she had angered her mistress.

"How know you that, Fanchon?" asked Angelique, recovering her usual careless tone.

"I overheard them speaking together, my Lady. The Chevalier de Pean said that the Intendant was sick, and would see no one this morning."

"Yes, what then?" Angelique was struck with a sudden consciousness of danger in the wind. "Are you sure they said the Intendant was sick?"

asked she.

"Yes, my Lady! and the Chevalier de Pean said that he was less sick than mad, and out of humor to a degree he had never seen him before!"

"Did they give a reason for it? that is, for the Intendant's sickness or madness?" Angelique's eyes were fixed keenly upon her maid, to draw out a full confession.

"None, my Lady, only the Chevalier des Meloises said he supposed it was the news from France which sat so ill on his stomach."

"And what then, Fanchon? you are so long of answering!" Angelique stamped her foot with impatience.

Fanchon looked up at the reproof so little merited, and replied quickly, "The Chevalier de Pean said it must be that, for he knew of nothing else. The gentlemen then went out and I heard no more."

Angelique was relieved by this turn of conversation. She felt certain that if Bigot discovered the murder he would not fail to reveal it to the Chevalier de Pean, who was understood to be the depository of all his secrets. She began to cheer up under the belief that Bigot would never dare accuse any one of a deed which would be the means of proclaiming his own falseness and duplicity towards the King and the Marquise de Pompadour.

"I have only to deny all knowledge of it," said she to herself, "swear to it if need be, and Bigot will not dare to go farther in the matter.

Then will come my time to turn the tables upon him in a way he little expects! Pshaw!" continued she, glancing at her gay hat in the mirror, and with her own dainty fingers setting the feather more airily to her liking. "Bigot is bound fast enough to me now that she is gone! and when he discovers that I hold his secret he will not dare meddle with mine."

Angelique, measurably reassured and hopeful of success in her desperate venture, descended the steps of her mansion, and, gathering up her robes daintily, mounted her horse, which had long been chafing in the hands of her groom waiting for his mistress.

She bade the man remain at home until her return, and dashed off down the Rue St. Louis, drawing after her a hundred eyes of admiration and envy.

She would ride down to the Place d'Armes, she thought, where she knew that before she had skirted the length of the Castle wall half a dozen gallants would greet her with offers of escort, and drop any business they had in hand for the sake of a gallop by her side.

She had scarcely passed the Monastery of the Recollets when she was espied by the Sieur La Force, who, too, was as quickly discovered by her, as he loitered at the corner of the Rue St. Ann, to catch sight of any fair piece of mischief that might be abroad that day from her classes in the Convent of the Ursulines.

"Angelique is as fair a prize as any of them," thought La Force, as he saluted her with Parisian politeness, and with a request to be her escort in her ride through the city.

"My horse is at hand, and I shall esteem it such an honor," said La Force, smiling, "and such a profit too," added he; "my credit is low in a certain quarter, you know where!" and he laughingly pointed towards the Convent. "I desire to make HER jealous, for she has made me madly so, and no one can aid in an enterprise of that kind better than yourself, Mademoiselle des Meloises!"

"Or more willingly, Sieur La Force!" replied she, laughing. "But you overrate my powers, I fear."

"Oh, by no means," replied La Force; "there is not a lady in Quebec but feels in her heart that Angelique des Meloises can steal away her lover when and where she will. She has only to look at him across the street, and presto, change! he is gone from her as if by magic. But will you really help me, Mademoiselle?"

"Most willingly, Sieur La Force,--for your profit if not for your honor!

I am just in the humor for tormenting somebody this morning; so get your horse and let us be off!"

Before La Force had mounted his horse, a number of gaily-dressed young ladies came in sight, in full sail down the Rue St. Ann, like a fleet of rakish little yachts, bearing down upon Angelique and her companion.

"Shall we wait for them, La Force?" asked she. "They are from the Convent!"

"Yes, and SHE is there too! The news will be all over the city in an hour that I am riding with you!" exclaimed La Force in a tone of intense satisfaction.

Five girls just verging on womanhood, perfect in manner and appearance--as the Ursulines knew well how to train the young olive-plants of the Colony,--walked on demurely enough, looking apparently straight forward, but casting side glances from under their veils which raked the Sieur La Force and Angelique with a searching fire that nothing could withstand, La Force said; but which Angelique remarked was simply "impudence, such as could only be found in Convent girls!"

They came nearer. Angelique might have supposed they were going to pass by them had she not known too well their sly ways. The foremost of the five, Louise Roy, whose glorious hair was the boast of the city, suddenly threw back her veil, and disclosing a charming face, dimpled with smiles and with a thousand mischiefs lurking in her bright gray eyes, sprang towards Angelique, while her companions--all Louises of the famous class of that name--also threw up their veils, and stood saluting Angelique and La Force with infinite merriment.

Louise Roy, quizzing La Force through a coquettish eyeglass which she wore on a ribbon round her pretty neck, as if she had never seen him before, motioned to him in a queenly way as she raised her dainty foot, giving him a severe look, or what tried to be such but was in truth an absurd failure.

He instantly comprehended her command, for such it was, and held out his hand, upon which she stepped lightly, and sprang up to Angelique, embracing and kissing her with such cordiality that, if it were not real, the acting was perfect. At the same time Louise Roy made her understand that she was not the only one who could avail herself of the gallant attentions of the Sieur La Force.

In truth Louise Roy was somewhat piqued at the Sieur La Force, and to punish him made herself as heavy as her slight figure would admit of.

She stood perched up as long as she could, and actually enjoyed the tremor which she felt plainly enough in his hand as he continued to support her, and was quite disposed to test how long he could or would hold her up, while she conversed in whispers with Angelique.

"Angelique!" said she. "They say in the Convent that you are to marry the Intendant. Your old mistress, Mere St. Louis, is crazy with delight.

She says she always predicted you would make a great match."

"Or none at all, as Mere St. Helene used to say of me; but they know everything in the Convent, do they not?" Angelique pinched the arm of Louise, as much as to say, "Of course it is true." "But who told you that, Louise?" asked she.

"Oh, every bird that flies! But tell me one thing more. They say the Intendant is a Bluebeard, who has had wives without number,--nobody knows how many or what became of them, so of course he kills them. Is that true?"

Angelique shrank a little, and little as it was the movement was noticed by Louise. "If nobody knows what became of them, how should I know, Louise?" replied she. "He does not look like a Bluebeard, does he?"

"So says Mere St. Joseph, who came from the Convent at Bordeaux, you know, for she never tires telling us. She declares that the Chevalier Bigot was never married at all, and she ought to know that surely, as well as she knows her beads, for coming from the same city as the Intendant, and knowing his family as she does--"