Mere Malheur, while the sun was yet high, reached her cottage under
the rock, where La Corriveau was eagerly expecting her at the
window. The moment she entered, the masculine voice of La Corriveau
was heard asking loudly,--
"Have you seen her, Mere Malheur? Did you give her the letter?
Never mind your hat! tell me before you take it off!" The old crone
was tugging at the strings, and La Corriveau came to help her.
"Yes! she took your letter," replied she, impatiently. "She took my
story like spring water. Go at the stroke of twelve to-morrow night
and she will let you in, Dame Dodier; but will she let you out
again, eh?" The crone stood with her hat in her hand, and looked
with a wicked glance at La Corriveau.
"If she will let me in, I shall let myself out, Mere Malheur,"
replied Corriveau in a low tone. "But why do you ask that?"
"Because I read mischief in your eye and see it twitching in your
thumb, and you do not ask me to share your secret! Is it so bad as
that, Dame Dodier?"
"Pshaw! you are sharing it! wait and you will see your share of it!
But tell me, Mere Malheur, how does she look, this mysterious lady
of the Chateau?" La Corriveau sat down, and placed her long, thin
hand on the arm of the old crone.
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