Caroline shrank a little at the thought expressed by the dame. “What causes you to say that?” asked she.
“I will tell, my Lady! 'Dame Tremblay!' said he, just before he left the Château. 'Dame Tremblay'—he always calls me that when he is formal, but sometimes when he is merry, he calls me 'Charming Josephine,' in remembrance of my young days, concerning which he has heard flattering stories, I dare say—”
“In heaven's name! go on, dame!” Caroline, depressed as she was, felt the dame's garrulity like a pinch on her impatience. “What said the Intendant to you, on leaving the Château?”
“Oh, he spoke to me of you quite feelingly—that is, bade me take the utmost care of the poor lady in the secret chamber. I was to give you everything you wished, and keep off all visitors, if such were your own desire.”
A train of powder does not catch fire from a spark more quickly than Caroline's imagination from these few words of the old housekeeper. “Did he say that, good dame? God bless you, and bless him for those words!” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of his tenderness, which, although half fictitious, she wholly believed.
“Yes, dame,” continued she. “It is my most earnest desire to be secluded from all visitors. I wish to see no one but yourself. Have you many visitors—ladies, I mean—at the Château?”
“Oh, yes! the ladies of the city are not likely to forget the invitations to the balls and dinners of the bachelor Intendant of New France. It is the most fashionable thing in the city, and every lady is wild to attend them. There is one, the handsomest and gayest of them all, who, they say, would not object even to become the bride of the Intendant.”
It was a careless shaft of the old dame's, but it went to the heart of Caroline. “Who is she, good dame?—pray tell me!”
“Oh, my Lady, I should fear her anger, if she knew what I say! She is the most terrible coquette in the city—worshipped by the men, and hated, of course, by the women, who all imitate her in dress and style as much as they possibly can, because they see it takes! But every woman fears for either husband or lover when Angélique des Meloises is her rival.”
“Is that her name? I never heard it before, dame!” remarked Caroline, with a shudder. She felt instinctively that the name was one of direful omen to herself.