and what you are!" exclaimed she. "I
never saw you before!"

"You have seen me before!" replied La Corriveau quietly.

Caroline looked at her amazedly, but did not recognize her. La Corriveau
continued, "Your father is the Baron de St. Castin, and you, lady,
would rather die than endure that he should find you in the Chateau of
Beaumanoir. Ask me not how I know these things; you will not deny their
truth; as for myself, I pretend not to be other than I seem."

"Your dress is that of a peasant-woman, but your language is not the
language of one. You are a lady in disguise visiting me in this strange
fashion!" said Caroline, puzzled more than ever. Her thoughts at this
instant reverted to the Intendant. "Why do you come here in this secret
manner?" asked she.

"I do not appear other than I am," replied La Corriveau evasively, "and
I come in this secret manner because I could get access to you in no
other way."

"You said that I had seen you before; I have no knowledge or
recollection of it," remarked Caroline, looking fixedly at her.

"Yes, you saw me once in the wood of St. Valier. Do you remember the
peasant-woman who was gathering mandrakes when you passed with your
Indian guides, and who gave you milk to refresh you on the way?"

This seemed like a revelation to Caroline; she remembered the incident
and the woman. La Corriveau had carefully put on the same dress she had
worn that day.

"I do recollect!" replied Caroline, as a feeling of confidence welled up
like a living spring within her. She offered La Corriveau her hand. "I
thank you gratefully," said she; "you were indeed kind to me that day in
the forest, and I am sure you must mean kindly by me now."

La Corriveau took the offered hand, but did not press it. She could not
for the life of her, for she had not heart to return the pressure of a
human hand. She saw her advantage, however, and kept it through the rest
of the brief interview.

"I mean you kindly, lady," replied she, softening her harsh voice as
much as she could to a tone of sympathy, "and I come to help you out of
your trouble."

For a moment that cruel smile played on her thin lips again, but she
instantly repressed it. "I am only a peasant-woman," repeated she again,
"but I bring you a little gift in my basket to show my good-will." She
put her hand in her basket, but did not withdraw it at the moment, as
Caroline, thinking little of gifts but only of her father, exclaimed,--

"I am