“I do want you to do it, La Corriveau, and your reward shall be great!” answered Angélique with a burst of impatience. She could beat about the bush no longer.
“To kill a woman or a man were of itself a pleasure even without the profit,” replied La Corriveau, doggedly. “But why should I run myself into danger for you, Mademoiselle des Meloises? Have you gold enough to balance the risk?”
Angélique had now fairly overleaped all barriers of reserve. “I will give you more than your eyes ever beheld, if you will serve me in this matter, Dame Dodier!”
“Perhaps so, but I am getting old and trust neither man nor woman. Give a pledge of your good faith, before you speak one word farther to me on this business, Mademoiselle des Meloises.” La Corriveau held out her double hands significantly.
“A pledge? that is gold you want!” replied Angélique. “Yes, La Corriveau; I will bind you to me with chains of gold; you shall have it uncounted, as I get it,—gold enough to make you the richest woman in St. Valier, the richest peasant-woman in New France.”
“I am no peasant-woman,” replied La Corriveau, with a touch of pride, “I come of a race ancient and terrible as the Roman Caesars! But pshaw! what have you to do with that? Give me the pledge of your good faith and I will help you.”
Angélique rose instantly, and, opening the drawer of an escritoire, took out a long silken purse filled with louis d'or, which peeped and glittered through the interstices of the net-work. She gave it with the air of one who cared nothing for money.
La Corriveau extended both hands eagerly, clutching as with the claws of a harpy. She pressed the purse to her thin bloodless lips, and touched with the ends of her bony fingers the edges of the bright coin visible through the silken net.
“This is indeed a rare earnest-penny!” exclaimed La Corriveau. “I will do your whole bidding, Mademoiselle; only I must do it in my own way. I have guessed aright the nature of your trouble and the remedy you seek. But I cannot guess the name of your false lover, nor that of the woman whose doom is sealed from this hour.”
“I will not tell you the name of my lover,” replied Angélique. She was reluctant to mention the name of Bigot as her lover. The idea was hateful to her. “The name of the woman I cannot tell you, even if I would,” added she.