"
"Well, vogue la galere!" exclaimed La Corriveau, starting up. "Let
it go as it will! I shall walk to Beaumanoir, and I shall fancy I
wear golden garters and silver slippers to make the way easy and
pleasant. But you must be hungry, Mere, with your long tramp. I
have a supper prepared for you, so come and eat in the devil's name,
or I shall be tempted to say grace in nomine Domini, and choke you."
The two women went to a small table and sat down to a plentiful meal
of such things as formed the dainties of persons of their rank of
life. Upon the table stood the dish of sweetmeats which the
thievish maidservant had brought to Mere Malheur with the groom's
story of the conversation between Bigot and Varin, a story which,
could Angelique have got hold of it, would have stopped at once her
frightful plot to kill the unhappy Caroline.
"I were a fool to tell her that story of the groom's," muttered La
Corriveau to herself, "and spoil the fairest experiment of the aqua
tofana ever made, and ruin my own fortune too! I know a trick worth
two of that," and she laughed inwardly to herself a laugh which was
repeated in hell and made merry the ghosts of Beatrice Spara, Exili,
and La Voisin.
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