journey.

Starting in the morning, she trudged out of the city towards the ferry
of Jean Le Nocher, who carefully crossed himself and his boat too as he
took Mere Malheur on board. He wafted her over in a hurry, as something
to be got rid of as quickly as possible.

Mere Malheur tramped on, like a heavy gnome, through the fallen and
flying leaves of the woods of Beaumanoir, caring nothing for the golden,
hazy sky, the soft, balmy air, or the varicolored leaves--scarlet,
yellow, and brown, of every shade and tinge--that hung upon the autumnal
trees.

A frosty night or two had ushered in the summer of St. Martin, as it was
called by the habitans,--the Indian summer,--that brief time of glory
and enchantment which visits us like a gaudy herald to announce the
approach of the Winter King. It is Nature's last rejoicing in the
sunshine and the open air, like the splendor and gaiety of a maiden
devoted to the cloister, who for a few weeks is allowed to flutter like
a bird of paradise amid the pleasures and gaieties of the world, and
then comes the end. Her locks of pride are shorn off; she veils her
beauty, and kneels a nun on the cold stones of her passionless cell, out
of which, even with repentance, there comes no deliverance.

Mere Malheur's arrival at Beaumanoir was speedily known to all the
servants of the Chateau. She did not often visit them, but when she did
there was a hurried recital of an Ave or two to avert any harm, followed
by a patronizing welcome and a rummage for small coins to cross her
hand withal in return for her solutions of the grave questions of love,
jealousy, money, and marriage, which fermented secretly or openly in the
bosoms of all of them. They were but human beings, food for imposture,
and preyed on by deceivers. The visit of Mere Malheur was an event of
interest in both kitchen and laundry of the Chateau.

Dame Tremblay had the first claim, however, upon this singular visitor.
She met her at the back door of the Chateau, and with a face beaming
with smiles, and dropping all dignity, exclaimed,--

"Mere Malheur, upon my life! Welcome, you wicked old soul! you surely
knew I wanted to see you! come in and rest! you must be tired, unless
you came on a broom! ha! ha! come to my room and never mind anybody!"

This last remark was made for the benefit of the servants who stood
peeping at every door and corner, not daring to speak to the old woman
in the presence of the housekeeper, but knowing