ve that she
wants your counsel and advice in an important matter."

Fanchon untied the corner of her handkerchief, and took from it a broad
shining louis d'or. She placed it in the hand of La Corriveau, whose
long fingers clutched it like the talons of a harpy. Of all the evil
passions of this woman, the greed for money was the most ravenous.

"It is long since I got a piece of gold like that to cross my hand with,
Fanchon!" said she, looking at it admiringly and spitting on it for good
luck.

"There are plenty more where it came from, aunt," replied Fanchon.
"Mademoiselle could fill your apron with gold every day of the week if
she would: she is to marry the Intendant!"

"Marry the Intendant! ah, indeed! that is why she sends for me so
urgently! I see! Marry the Intendant! She will bestow a pot of gold on
La Corriveau to accomplish that match!"

"Maybe she would, aunt; I would, myself. But it is not that she wishes
to consult you about just now. She lost her jewels at the ball, and
wants your help to find them."

"Lost her jewels, eh? Did she say you were to tell me that she had lost
her jewels, Fanchon?"

"Yes, aunt, that is what she wants to consult you about," replied
Fanchon, with simplicity. But the keen perception of La Corriveau saw
that a second purpose lay behind it.

"A likely tale!" muttered she, "that so rich a lady would send for La
Corriveau from St. Valier to find a few jewels! But it will do. I will
go with you to the city: I cannot refuse an invitation like that. Gold
fetches any woman, Fanchon. It fetches me always. It will fetch you,
too, some day, if you are lucky enough to give it the chance."

"I wish it would fetch me now, aunt; but poor girls who live by service
and wages have small chance to be sent for in that way! We are glad to
get the empty hand without the money. Men are so scarce with this cruel
war, that they might easily have a wife to each finger, were it allowed
by the law. I heard Dame Tremblay say--and I thought her very right--the
Church does not half consider our condition and necessities."

"Dame Tremblay! the Charming Josephine of Lake Beauport! She who would
have been a witch, and could not: Satan would not have her!" exclaimed
La Corriveau, scornfully. "Is she still housekeeper and bedmaker at
Beaumanoir?"

Fanchon was honest enough to feel rather indignant at this speech.
"Don't speak so of her, aunt; she is not bad. Although I ran away from
her, and took servic