Mere Malheur was wary, and accustomed to fence with words. It was
necessary to tell a long tale of circumstances to Dame Tremblay, but
not necessary nor desirable to tell the truth. The old crone
therefore, as soon as she had seated herself in the easy chair of
the housekeeper and refreshed herself by twice accepting the dame's
pressing invitation to tea and cognac, related with uplifted hands
and shaking head a narrative of bold lies regarding what had really
passed during her interview with Caroline.
"But who is she, Mere Malheur? Did she tell you her name? Did she
show you her palm?"
"Both, dame, both! She is a girl of Ville Marie who has run away
from her parents for love of the gallant Intendant, and is in hiding
from them. They wanted to put her into the Convent to cure her of
love. The Convent always cures love, dame, beyond the power of
philtres to revive it!" and the old crone laughed inwardly to
herself, as if she doubted her own saying.
Eager to return to La Corriveau with the account of her successful
interview with Caroline, she bade Dame Tremblay a hasty but formal
farewell, and with her crutched stick in her hand trudged stoutly
back to the city.
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