You desire to punish the Intendant
for his treachery in forsaking you for one more beautiful and
better!"
It was but a bold guess of La Corriveau, but she had divined the
truth. The Intendant Bigot was the man who was playing false with
Angelique.
Her words filled up the measure of Angelique's jealous hate, and
confirmed her terrible resolution. Jealousy is never so omnipotent
as when its rank suspicions are fed and watered by the tales of
others.
"There can be but one life between her and me!" replied the vehement
girl; "Angelique des Meloises would die a thousand deaths rather
than live to feed on the crumbs of any man's love while another
woman feasts at his table. I sent for you, La Corriveau, to take my
gold and kill that woman!"
"Kill that woman! It is easily said, Mademoiselle; but I will not
forsake you, were she the Madonna herself! I hate her for her
goodness, as you hate her for her beauty. Lay another purse by the
side of this, and in thrice three days there shall be weeping in the
Chateau of Beaumanoir, and no one shall know who has killed the
cuckquean of the Chevalier Intendant!"
Angelique sprang up with a cry of exultation, like a pantheress
seizing her prey.
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