La Corriveau, with an agility hardly to be expected from her years,
seated herself beside Fanchon in the caleche, and giving her willing
horse a sharp cut with the lash for spite, not for need,--goodman
Dodier said, only to anger him,--they set off at a rapid pace, and
were soon out of sight at the turn of the dark pine-woods, on their
way to the city of Quebec.
Angelique des Meloises had remained all day in her house, counting
the hours as they flew by, laden with the fate of her unsuspecting
rival at Beaumanoir.
Night had now closed in; the lamps were lit, the fire again burned
red upon the hearth. Her door was inexorably shut against all
visitors. Lizette had been sent away until the morrow; Angelique
sat alone and expectant of the arrival of La Corriveau.
The gay dress in which she had outshone all her sex at the ball on
the previous night lay still in a heap upon the floor, where last
night she had thrown it aside, like the robe of innocence which once
invested her. Her face was beautiful, but cruel, and in its
expression terrible as Medea's brooding over her vengeance sworn
against Creusa for her sin with Jason.
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