Mère Malheur continued eyeing her with cold curiosity, but was ready at the first moment to second the promptings of the evil spirit contained in the letter.
“Mademoiselle,” said she, “there is but one way to escape from the search to be made by your father and the Governor,—take counsel of her who sends you that friendly letter. She can offer you a safe hiding-place until the storm blows over. Will you see her, my Lady?”
“See her! I, who dare see no one! Who is she that sends me such strange news? Is it truth? Do you know her?” continued she, looking fixedly at Mère Malheur, as if in hope of reading on her countenance some contradiction of the matter contained in the letter.
“I think it is all true, my Lady,” replied she, with mock humility; “I am but a poor messenger, however, and speak not myself of things I do not know, but she who sends me will tell you all.”
“Does the Intendant know her?”
“I think he told her to watch over your safety during his absence. She is old and your friend; will you see her?” replied Mère Malheur, who saw the point was gained.
“Oh, yes, yes! tell her to come. Beseech her not to fail to come, or I shall go mad. O woman, you too are old and experienced and ought to know,—can she help me in this strait, think you?” exclaimed Caroline, clasping her hands in a gesture of entreaty.
“No one is more able to help you,” said the crone; “she can counsel you what to do, and if need be find means to conceal you from the search that will be made for you.”
“Haste, then, and bid her come to-morrow night! Why not tonight?” Caroline was all nervous impatience. “I will wait her coming in the vaulted chamber; I will watch for her as one in the valley of death watches for the angel of deliverance. Bid her come, and at midnight to-morrow she shall find the door of the secret chamber open to admit her.”
The eagerness of the ill-fated girl to see La Corriveau outran every calculation of Mère Malheur. It was in vain and useless for her to speak further on the subject; Caroline would say no more. Her thoughts ran violently in the direction suggested by the artful letter. She would see La Corriveau to-morrow night, and would make no more avowals to Mère Malheur, she said to herself.