"Now, Mere Malheur! I have a secret to tell you," said Dame
Tremblay, in a low, confidential tone, "a dead secret, mind you,
which you had better be burnt than reveal. There is a lady, a real
lady if I ever saw one, living in the Chateau here in the greatest
privacy. I and the Intendant only see her. She is beautiful and
full of sorrow as the picture of the blessed Madonna. What she is,
I may guess; but who she is, I cannot conjecture, and would give my
little finger to know!"
"Tut, dame!" replied Mere Malheur, with a touch of confidence, "I
will not believe any woman could keep a secret from you! But this
is news, indeed, you tell me! A lady in concealment here, and you
say you cannot find her out, Dame Tremblay!"
"In truth, I cannot; I have tried every artifice, but she passes all
my wit and skill. If she were a man, I would have drawn her very
teeth out with less difficulty than I have tried to extract the name
of this lady. When I was the Charming Josephine of Lake Beauport, I
could wind men like a thread around which finger I liked; but this
is a tangled knot which drives me to despair to unravel it.
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