She had been well tutored on every point, what to
say and how to demean herself. She bore a letter to Caroline,
written in the Italian hand of La Corriveau, who had learned to
write well from her mother, Marie Exili.
The mere possession of the art of writing was a rarity in those days
in the class among whom she lived. La Corriveau's ability to write
at all was a circumstance as remarkable to her illiterate neighbors
as the possession of the black art which they ascribed to her, and
not without a strong suspicion that it had the same origin.
Mere Malheur, in anticipation of a cup of tea and brandy with Dame
Tremblay, had dressed herself with some appearance of smartness in a
clean striped gown of linsey. A peaked Artois hat surmounted a
broad-frilled cap, which left visible some tresses of coarse gray
hair and a pair of silver ear-rings, which dangled with every motion
of her head. Her shoes displayed broad buckles of brass, and her
short petticoat showed a pair of stout ankles enclosed in red
clocked stockings. She carried a crutched stick in her hand, by
help of which she proceeded vigorously on her journey.
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