great favorite of
the King.

Rolling in wealth and scarcely faded in beauty, Angelique kept herself
in the public eye. She hated retirement, and boldly claimed her right
to a foremost place in the society of Quebec. Her great wealth and
unrivalled power of intrigue enabled her to keep that place, down to the
last.

The fate of La Corriveau, her confederate in her great wickedness, was
peculiar and terrible. Secured at once by her own fears, as well as by
a rich yearly allowance paid her by Angelique, La Corriveau discreetly
bridled her tongue over the death of Caroline, but she could not bridle
her own evil passions in her own household.

One summer day, of the year following the conquest of the Colony, the
Goodman Dodier was found dead in his house at St. Valier. Fanchon, who
knew something and suspected more, spoke out; an investigation into the
cause of death of the husband resulted in the discovery that he had
been murdered by pouring melted lead into his ear while he slept. La
Corriveau was arrested as the perpetrator of the atrocious deed.

A special court of justice was convened in the great hall of the Convent
of the Ursulines, which, in the ruinous state of the city after the
siege and bombardment, had been taken for the headquarters of General
Murray. Mere Migeon and Mere Esther, who both survived the conquest, had
effected a prudent arrangement with the English general, and saved the
Convent from all further encroachment by placing it under his special
protection.

La Corriveau was tried with all the fairness, if not with all the forms,
of English law. She made a subtle and embarrassing defence, but was
at last fairly convicted of the cruel murder of her husband. She was
sentenced to be hung, and gibbetted in an iron cage, upon the hill of
Levis, in sight of the whole city of Quebec.

La Corriveau made frantic efforts during her imprisonment to engage
Angelique to intercede in her behalf; but Angelique's appeals were
fruitless before the stern administrators of English law. Moreover,
Angelique, to be true to herself, was false to her wicked confederate.
She cared not to intercede too much, or enough to ensure success. In her
heart she wished La Corriveau well out of the way, that all memory of
the tragedy of Beaumanoir might be swept from the earth, except what
of it remained hid in her own bosom. She juggled with the appeals of
La Corriveau, keeping her in hopes of pardon until the fatal hour came,