But when La Corriveau, coldly and with a bitter spite at her
softness, described with a sudden gesticulation and eyes piercing
her through and through, the strokes of the poniard upon the
lifeless body of her victim, Angelique sprang up, clasped her hands
together, and, with a cry of woe, fell senseless upon the floor.
"She is useless now," said La Corriveau, rising and spurning
Angelique with her foot. "I deemed she had courage to equal her
wickedness. She is but a woman after all,--doomed to be the slave
of some man through life, while aspiring to command all men! It is
not of such flesh that La Corriveau is made!"
La Corriveau stood a few moments, reflecting what was best to be
done.
All things considered, she decided to leave Angelique to come to of
herself, while she made the best of her way back to the house of
Mere Malheur, with the intention, which she carried out, of
returning to St. Valier with her infamous reward that very day.
CHAPTER XLII.
"LET'S TALK OF GRAVES AND WORMS AND EPITAPHS."
About the hour that La Corriveau emerged from the gloomy woods of
Beauport, on her return to the city, the night of the murder of
Caroline, two horsemen were battering at full speed on the highway
that led to Charlebourg.
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