She knew at that
hour La Corriveau must be in the presence of her victim. Would she
kill her? Was she about it now? The thought fastened on Angelique
like a wild beast, and would not let go. She thought of the
Intendant, and was filled with hope; she thought of the crime of
murder and shrunk now that it was being done.
It was in this mood she waited and watched for the return of her
bloody messenger. She heard the cautious foot on the stone steps.
She knew by a sure instinct whose it was, and rushed down to admit
her.
They met at the door, and without a word spoken, one eager glance of
Angelique at the dark face of La Corriveau drank in the whole fatal
story. Caroline de St. Castin was dead! Her rival in the love of
the Intendant was beyond all power of rivalry now! The lofty doors
of ambitious hope stood open--what! to admit the queen of beauty and
of society? No! but a murderess, who would be forever haunted with
the fear of justice! It seemed at this moment as if the lights had
all gone out in the palaces and royal halls where her imagination
had so long run riot, and she saw only dark shadows, and heard
inarticulate sounds of strange voices babbling in her ear.
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