its
duty.

"You may go now," said Angelique. "Here is money for you. Give this
piece of gold to La Corriveau as an earnest that I want her. The
canotiers of the St. Lawrence will also require double fare for bringing
La Corriveau over the ferry."

"No, they rarely venture to charge her anything at all, my Lady,"
replied Fanchon; "to be sure it is not for love, but they are afraid
of her. And yet Antoine La Chance, the boatman, says she is equal to a
Bishop for stirring up piety; and more Ave Marias are repeated when she
is in his boat, than are said by the whole parish on Sunday."

"I ought to say my Ave Marias, too!" replied Angelique, as Fanchon left
the apartment, "but my mouth is parched and burns up the words of prayer
like a furnace; but that is nothing to the fire in my heart! That girl,
Fanchon Dodier, is not to be trusted, but I have no other messenger
to send for La Corriveau. I must be wary with her, too, and make
her suggest the thing I would have done. My Lady of Beaumanoir!" she
apostrophized in a hard monotone, "your fate does not depend on the
Intendant, as you fondly imagine. Better had he issued the lettre de
cachet than for you to fall into the hands of La Corriveau!"

Daylight now shot into the windows, and the bright rays of the rising
sun streamed full in the face of Angelique. She saw herself reflected in
the large Venetian mirror. Her countenance looked pale, stern, and fixed
as marble. The fire in her eyes startled her with its unearthly glow.
She trembled and turned away from her mirror, and crept to her couch
like a guilty thing, with a feeling as if she was old, haggard, and
doomed to shame for the sake of this Intendant, who cared not for her,
or he would not have driven her to such desperate and wicked courses as
never fell to the lot of a woman before.

"C'est sa faute! C'est sa faute!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands
passionately together. "If she dies, it is his fault, not mine! I prayed
him to banish her, and he would not! C'est sa faute! C'est sa faute!"
Repeating these words Angelique fell into a feverish slumber, broken by
frightful dreams which lasted far on into the day.

The long reign of Louis XIV., full of glories and misfortunes for
France, was marked towards its close by a portentous sign indicative of
corrupt manners and a falling state. Among these, the crimes of secret
poisoning suddenly attained a magnitude which filled the whole nation
with terror and alarm.