s, is no better than she should be; and
the Intendant knows it, and Mademoiselle des Meloises knows it too; and,
to judge by her constant prayers and penitence, she knows it herself but
too well, and will not say it to me!"

"Ay, dame! but this is great news you tell me!" replied Mere Malheur,
eagerly clutching at the opportunity thus offered for the desired
interview. "But what help do you expect from me in the matter?"

Mere Malheur looked very expectant at her friend, who continued, "I want
you to see that lady under promise of secrecy, mark you!--and look at
her hands, and tell me who and what she is."

Dame Tremblay had an unlimited faith in the superstitions of her age.

"I will do all you wish, dame, but you must allow me to see her
alone," replied the crone, who felt she was thus opening the door to La
Corriveau.

"To be sure I will,--that is, if she will consent to be seen, for she
has in some things a spirit of her own! I am afraid to push her too
closely! The mystery of her is taking the flesh off my bones, and I can
only get sleep by taking strong possets, Mere Malheur! Feel my elbow!
Feel my knee! I have not had so sharp an elbow or knee since Goodman
Tremblay died! And he said I had the sharpest elbow and knee in the
city! But I had to punch him sometimes to keep him in order! But set
that horrid cap straight, Mere Malheur, while I go ask her if she would
like to have her fortune told. She is not a woman if she would not like
to know her fortune, for she is in despair, I think, with all the world;
and when a woman is in despair, as I know by my own experience, she will
jump at any chance for spite, if not for love, as I did when I took the
Sieur Tremblay by your advice, Mere Malheur!"

Dame Tremblay left the old crone making hideous faces in a mirror.
She rubbed her cheeks and mouth with the corner of her apron as she
proceeded to the door of Caroline's apartment. She knocked gently, and a
low, soft voice bade her enter.

Caroline was seated on a chair by the window, knitting her sad thoughts
into a piece of work which she occasionally lifted from her lap with a
sudden start, as something broke the train of her reflections.

She was weighing over and over in her thoughts, like gold in a scale, by
grains and pennyweights, a few kind words lately spoken to her by Bigot
when he ran in to bid her adieu before departing on his journey to Trois
Rivieres. They seemed a treasure inexhaustible as she kept o