e with Mademoiselle des Meloises, I will not speak
ill of her."

"Why did you run away from Beaumanoir?" asked La Corriveau.

Fanchon reflected a moment upon the mystery of the lady of Beaumanoir,
and something checked her tongue, as if it were not safe to tell all
she knew to her aunt, who would, moreover, be sure to find out from
Angelique herself as much as her mistress wished her to know.

"I did not like Dame Tremblay, aunt," replied she; "I preferred to live
with Mademoiselle Angelique. She is a lady, a beauty, who dresses to
surpass any picture in the book of modes from Paris, which I often
looked at on her dressing-table. She allowed me to imitate them, or wear
her cast-off dresses, which were better than any other ladies' new ones.
I have one of them on. Look, aunt!" Fanchon spread out very complacently
the skirt of a pretty blue robe she wore.

La Corriveau nodded her head in a sort of silent approval, and
remarked,--"She is free-handed enough! She gives what costs her nothing,
and takes all she can get, and is, after all, a trollop, like the rest
of us, Fanchon, who would be very good if there were neither men nor
money nor fine clothes in the world, to tempt poor silly women."

"You do say such nasty things, aunt!" exclaimed Fanchon, flashing with
indignation. "I will hear no more! I am going into the house to see dear
old Uncle Dodier, who has been looking through the window at me for ten
minutes past, and dared not come out to speak to me. You are too hard
on poor old Uncle Dodier, aunt," said Fanchon, boldly. "If you cannot be
kind to him, why did you marry him?"

"Why, I wanted a husband, and he wanted my money, that was all; and I
got my bargain, and his too, Fanchon!" and the woman laughed savagely.

"I thought people married to be happy, aunt," replied the girl,
persistently.

"Happy! such folly. Satan yokes people together to bring more sinners
into the world, and supply fresh fuel for his fires."

"My mistress thinks there is no happiness like a good match," remarked
Fanchon; "and I think so, too, aunt. I shall never wait the second time
of asking, I assure you, aunt."

"You are a fool, Fanchon," said La Corriveau; "but your mistress
deserves to wear the ring of Cleopatra, and to become the mother of
witches and harlots for all time. Why did she really send for me?"

The girl crossed herself, and exclaimed, "God forbid, aunt! my mistress
is not like that!"

La Corriveau spat at the men