in my own fortune too! I know a trick worth two
of that," and she laughed inwardly to herself a laugh which was repeated
in hell and made merry the ghosts of Beatrice Spara, Exili, and La
Voisin.

All next day La Corriveau kept closely to the house, but she found
means to communicate to Angelique her intention to visit Beaumanoir that
night.

The news was grateful, yet strangely moving to Angelique; she trembled
and turned pale, not for truth, but for doubt and dread of possible
failure or discovery.

She sent by an unknown hand to the house of Mere Malheur a little basket
containing a bouquet of roses so beautiful and fragrant that they might
have been plucked in the garden of Eden.

La Corriveau carried the basket into an inner chamber, a small room,
the window of which never saw the sun, but opened against the close,
overhanging rock, which was so near that it might be touched by the
hand. The dark, damp wall of the cliff shed a gloomy obscurity in the
room even at midday.

The small black eyes of La Corriveau glittered like poniards as she
opened the basket, and taking out the bouquet, found attached to it by a
ribbon a silken purse containing a number of glittering pieces of gold.
She pressed the coins to her cheek, and even put them between her lips
to taste their sweetness, for money she loved beyond all things. The
passion of her soul was avarice; her wickedness took its direction from
the love of money, and scrupled at no iniquity for the sake of it.

She placed the purse carefully in her bosom, and took up the roses,
regarding them with a strange look of admiration as she muttered, "They
are beautiful and they are sweet! men would call them innocent! they are
like her who sent them, fair without as yet; like her who is to
receive them, fair within." She stood reflecting for a few moments, and
exclaimed as she laid the bouquet upon the table,--

"Angelique des Meloises, you send your gold and your roses to me because
you believe me to be a worse demon than yourself, but you are worthy to
be crowned tonight with these roses as queen of hell and mistress of
all the witches that ever met in Grand Sabbat at the palace of Galienne,
where Satan sits on a throne of gold!"

La Corriveau looked out of the window and saw a corner of the rock lit
up with the last ray of the setting sun. She knew it was time to prepare
for her journey. She loosened her long black and gray elfin locks, and
let them fall dishevelle