La Corriveau did not reply except by a sign of assent, and standing upright waited for further question.
Caroline looked at her again wonderingly. That a simple peasant-woman could have indited such a letter, or could have known aught respecting her father, seemed incredible.
“In heaven's name, tell me who and what you are!” exclaimed she. “I never saw you before!”
“You have seen me before!” replied La Corriveau quietly.
Caroline looked at her amazedly, but did not recognize her. La Corriveau continued, “Your father is the Baron de St. Castin, and you, lady, would rather die than endure that he should find you in the Château of Beaumanoir. Ask me not how I know these things; you will not deny their truth; as for myself, I pretend not to be other than I seem.”
“Your dress is that of a peasant-woman, but your language is not the language of one. You are a lady in disguise visiting me in this strange fashion!” said Caroline, puzzled more than ever. Her thoughts at this instant reverted to the Intendant. “Why do you come here in this secret manner?” asked she.
“I do not appear other than I am,” replied La Corriveau evasively, “and I come in this secret manner because I could get access to you in no other way.”
“You said that I had seen you before; I have no knowledge or recollection of it,” remarked Caroline, looking fixedly at her.
“Yes, you saw me once in the wood of St. Valier. Do you remember the peasant-woman who was gathering mandrakes when you passed with your Indian guides, and who gave you milk to refresh you on the way?”
This seemed like a revelation to Caroline; she remembered the incident and the woman. La Corriveau had carefully put on the same dress she had worn that day.