Valier.
She sat musing in her chair, not noticing the presence of her niece,
who stood for a moment looking and hesitating before accosting her.
Her countenance bore, when she was alone, an expression of malignity
which made Fanchon shudder. A quick, unconscious twitching of the
fingers accompanied her thoughts, as if this weird woman was playing
a game of mora with the evil genius that waited on her. Her
grandsire Exili had the same nervous twitching of his fingers, and
the vulgar accused him of playing at mora with the Devil, who ever
accompanied him, they believed.
The lips of La Corriveau moved in unison with her thoughts. She
was giving expression to her habitual contempt for her sex as she
crooned over, in a sufficiently audible voice to reach the ear of
Fanchon, a hateful song of Jean Le Meung on women:
"'Toutes vous etes, serez ou futes,
De fait ou de volonte putes!'"
"It is not nice to say that, Aunt Marie!" exclaimed Fanchon, coming
forward and embracing La Corriveau, who gave a start on seeing her
niece so unexpectedly before her.
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