loud laugh; "why I go to church myself, and whisper
my prayers backwards to keep on terms with the devil, who stands nodding
behind the altar to every one of my petitions,--that is more than some
people get in return for their prayers," added she.

"I pray backwards in church too, dame, but I could never get sight
of him there, as you do: something always blinds me!" and the two old
sinners laughed together at the thought of the devil's litanies they
recited in the church.

"But how to get to Beaumanoir? I shall have to walk, as you did, Mere
Malheur. It is a vile road, and I must take the byway through the
forest. It were worth my life to be seen on this visit," said La
Corriveau, conning on her fingers the difficulties of the by-path, which
she was well acquainted with, however.

"There is a moon after nine, by which hour you can reach the wood of
Beaumanoir," observed the crone. "Are you sure you know the way, Dame
Dodier?"

"As well as the way into my gown! I know an Indian canotier who will
ferry me across to Beauport, and say nothing. I dare not allow that
prying knave, Jean Le Nocher, or his sharp wife, to mark my movements."

"Well thought of, Dame Dodier; you are of a craft and subtlety to cheat
Satan himself at a game of hide and seek!" The crone looked with genuine
admiration, almost worship, at La Corriveau as she said this; "but I
doubt he will find both of us at last, dame, when we have got into our
last corner."

"Well, vogue la galere!" exclaimed La Corriveau, starting up. "Let it go
as it will! I shall walk to Beaumanoir, and I shall fancy I wear golden
garters and silver slippers to make the way easy and pleasant. But you
must be hungry, Mere, with your long tramp. I have a supper prepared for
you, so come and eat in the devil's name, or I shall be tempted to say
grace in nomine Domini, and choke you."

The two women went to a small table and sat down to a plentiful meal
of such things as formed the dainties of persons of their rank of
life. Upon the table stood the dish of sweetmeats which the thievish
maidservant had brought to Mere Malheur with the groom's story of the
conversation between Bigot and Varin, a story which, could Angelique
have got hold of it, would have stopped at once her frightful plot to
kill the unhappy Caroline.

"I were a fool to tell her that story of the groom's," muttered La
Corriveau to herself, "and spoil the fairest experiment of the aqua
tofana ever made, and ru