But he did not deceive
her. His professions were not all true, but how far they were true
was a question that again and again tormented her, and set her bosom
palpitating as he left her room with his usual courteous salute.
"He suspects me! He more than suspects me!" said she to herself as
Bigot passed out of the mansion and mounted his horse to ride off.
"He would speak out plainer if he dared avow that that woman was in
truth the missing Caroline de St. Castin!" thought she with savage
bitterness.
"I have a bit in your mouth there, Francois Bigot, that will forever
hold you in check. That missing demoiselle, no one knows as you do
where she is. I would give away every jewel I own to know what you
did with the pretty piece of mortality left on your hands by La
Corriveau."
Thus soliloquized Angelique for a few moments, looking gloomy and
beautiful as Medea, when the step of De Pean sounded up the broad
stair.
With a sudden transformation, as if touched by a magic wand,
Angelique sprang forward, all smiles and fascinations to greet his
entrance.
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