On this occasion La Corriveau was more than usually reserved, and while Mère Malheur eagerly detailed to her all the doings and undoings that had happened in her circle of acquaintance, she got little information in return. She shrewdly concluded that La Corriveau had business on hand which would not bear to be spoken of.
“When you need my help, ask for it without scruple, Dame Dodier,” said the old crone. “I see you have something on hand that may need my aid. I would go into the fire to serve you, although I would not burn my finger for any other woman in the world, and you know it.”
“Yes, I know it, Mère Malheur,” La Corriveau spoke with an air of superiority, “and you say rightly: I have something on hand which I cannot accomplish alone, and I need your help, although I cannot tell you yet how or against whom.”
“Is it a woman or a man? I will only ask that question, Dame Dodier,” said the crone, turning upon her a pair of green, inquisitive eyes.
“It is a woman, and so of course you will help me. Our sex for the bottom of all mischief, Mère Malheur! I do not know what women are made for except to plague one another for the sake of worthless men!”
The old crone laughed a hideous laugh, and playfully pushed her long fingers into the ribs of La Corriveau. “Made for! quotha! men's temptation, to be sure, and the beginning of all mischief!”
“Pretty temptations you and I are, Mère Malheur!” replied La Corriveau, with a scornful laugh.
“Well, we were pretty temptations once! I will never give up that! You must own, Dame Dodier, we were both pretty temptations once!”
“Pshaw! I wish I had been a man, for my part,” replied La Corriveau, impetuously. “It was a spiteful cross of fate to make me a woman!”
“But, Dame Dodier, I like to be a woman, I do. A man cannot be half as wicked as a woman, especially if she be young and pretty,” said the old woman, laughing till the tears ran out of her bleared eyes.