“Yes! go in by the vaulted passage and knock at the secret door. She will admit you. But what will you do with her, Dame Dodier? Is she doomed? Could you not be gentle with her, dame?”
There was a fall in the voice of Mère Malheur,—an intonation partly due to fear of consequences, partly to a fibre of pity which—dry and disused—something in the look of Caroline had stirred like a dead leaf quivering in the wind.
“Tut! has she melted your old dry heart to pity, Mère Malheur! Ha, ha! who would have thought that! and yet I remember she made a soft fool of me for a minute in the wood of St. Valier!” La Corriveau spoke in a hard tone, as if in reproving Mère Malheur she was also reproving herself.
“She is unlike any other woman I ever saw,” replied the crone, ashamed of her unwonted sympathy. “The devil is clean out of her as he is out of a church.”
“You are a fool, Mère Malheur! Out of a church, quotha!” and La Corriveau laughed a loud laugh; “why I go to church myself, and whisper my prayers backwards to keep on terms with the devil, who stands nodding behind the altar to every one of my petitions,—that is more than some people get in return for their prayers,” added she.
“I pray backwards in church too, dame, but I could never get sight of him there, as you do: something always blinds me!” and the two old sinners laughed together at the thought of the devil's litanies they recited in the church.
“But how to get to Beaumanoir? I shall have to walk, as you did, Mère Malheur. It is a vile road, and I must take the byway through the forest. It were worth my life to be seen on this visit,” said La Corriveau, conning on her fingers the difficulties of the by-path, which she was well acquainted with, however.
“There is a moon after nine, by which hour you can reach the wood of Beaumanoir,” observed the crone. “Are you sure you know the way, Dame Dodier?”
“As well as the way into my gown! I know an Indian canotier who will ferry me across to Beauport, and say nothing. I dare not allow that prying knave, Jean Le Nocher, or his sharp wife, to mark my movements.”
“Well thought of, Dame Dodier; you are of a craft and subtlety to cheat Satan himself at a game of hide and seek!” The crone looked with genuine admiration, almost worship, at La Corriveau as she said this; “but I doubt he will find both of us at last, dame, when we have got into our last corner.”