The Golden Dog [248]
thought she, shuddering at the supposition; but she reassured herself that it could not be. "Still, my looks condemn me! The pale face of that dead girl is looking at me out of mine! Bigot, if he sees me, will not fail to read the secret in my looks."
She glanced at the clock: the morning was far advanced towards noon; visitors might soon arrive, Bigot himself might come, she dare not deny herself to him. She would deny herself to no one to-day! She would go everywhere and see everybody, and show the world, if talk of it should arise, that she was wholly innocent of that girl's blood.
She would wear her brightest looks, her gayest robe, her hat and feathers, the newest from Paris. She would ride out into the city,-- go to the Cathedral,--show herself to all her friends, and make every one say or think that Angelique des Meloises had not a care or trouble in the world.
She rang for Fanchon, impatient to commence her toilet, for when dressed she knew that she would feel like herself once more, cool and defiant. The touch of her armor of fashionable attire would restore her confidence in herself, and enable her to brave down any suspicion in the mind of the Intendant,--at any rate it was her only resource, and Angelique was not one to give up even a lost battle, let alone one half gained through the death of her rival.
Fanchon came in haste at the summons of her mistress. She had long waited to hear the bell, and began to fear she was sick or in one of those wild moods which had come over her occasionally since the night of her last interview with Le Gardeur.
The girl started at sight of the pale face and paler lips of her mistress. She uttered an exclamation of surprise, but Angelique, anticipating all questions, told her she was unwell, but would dress and take a ride out in the fresh air and sunshine to recruit.
"But had you not better see the physician, my Lady?--you do look so pale to-day, you are really not well!"
"No, but I will ride out;" and she added in her old way, "perhaps, Fanchon, I may meet some one who will be better company than the physician. Qui sait?" And she laughed with an appearance of gaiety which she was far from feeling, and which only half imposed on the quick-witted maid who waited upon her.
"Where is your aunt, Fanchon? When did you see Dame Dodier?" asked she, really anxious to learn what had become of La Corriveau.
"She returned home this morning, my Lady! I had not seen her for days before, but supposed she had already gone back to St. Valier,-- but Aunt Dodier is a strange woman, and tells no one her business."
"She has, perhaps, other lost jewels to look after besides mine," replied Angelique mechanically, yet feeling easier upon learning the departure of La Corriveau.
"Perhaps so, my Lady. I am glad she is gone home. I shall never wish to see her again."
"Why?" asked Angelique, sharply, wondering if Fanchon had conjectured anything of her aunt's business.
"They say she has dealings with that horrid Mere Malheur, and I believe it," replied Fanchon, with a shrug of disgust.
"Ah! do you think Mere Malheur knows her business or any of your aunt's secrets, Fanchon?" asked Angelique, thoroughly roused.
"I think she does, my Lady,--you cannot live in a chimney with another without both getting black alike, and Mere Malheur is a black witch as sure as my aunt is a white one," was Fanchon's reply.
"What said your aunt on leaving?" asked her mistress.
"I did not see her leave, my Lady; I only learned from Ambroise Gariepy that she had crossed the river this morning to return to St. Valier."
"And who is Ambroise Gariepy, Fanchon? You have a wide circle of acquaintance for a young girl, I think!" Angelique knew the dangers of gossiping too well not to fear Fanchon's imprudences.
"Yes, my Lady," replied Fanchon with affected simplicity, "Ambroise Gariepy keeps the Lion Vert and the ferry upon the south shore; he brings me news and sometimes a little present from the pack of the Basque pedlers,--he brought me this comb, my Lady!"
She glanced at the clock: the morning was far advanced towards noon; visitors might soon arrive, Bigot himself might come, she dare not deny herself to him. She would deny herself to no one to-day! She would go everywhere and see everybody, and show the world, if talk of it should arise, that she was wholly innocent of that girl's blood.
She would wear her brightest looks, her gayest robe, her hat and feathers, the newest from Paris. She would ride out into the city,-- go to the Cathedral,--show herself to all her friends, and make every one say or think that Angelique des Meloises had not a care or trouble in the world.
She rang for Fanchon, impatient to commence her toilet, for when dressed she knew that she would feel like herself once more, cool and defiant. The touch of her armor of fashionable attire would restore her confidence in herself, and enable her to brave down any suspicion in the mind of the Intendant,--at any rate it was her only resource, and Angelique was not one to give up even a lost battle, let alone one half gained through the death of her rival.
Fanchon came in haste at the summons of her mistress. She had long waited to hear the bell, and began to fear she was sick or in one of those wild moods which had come over her occasionally since the night of her last interview with Le Gardeur.
The girl started at sight of the pale face and paler lips of her mistress. She uttered an exclamation of surprise, but Angelique, anticipating all questions, told her she was unwell, but would dress and take a ride out in the fresh air and sunshine to recruit.
"But had you not better see the physician, my Lady?--you do look so pale to-day, you are really not well!"
"No, but I will ride out;" and she added in her old way, "perhaps, Fanchon, I may meet some one who will be better company than the physician. Qui sait?" And she laughed with an appearance of gaiety which she was far from feeling, and which only half imposed on the quick-witted maid who waited upon her.
"Where is your aunt, Fanchon? When did you see Dame Dodier?" asked she, really anxious to learn what had become of La Corriveau.
"She returned home this morning, my Lady! I had not seen her for days before, but supposed she had already gone back to St. Valier,-- but Aunt Dodier is a strange woman, and tells no one her business."
"She has, perhaps, other lost jewels to look after besides mine," replied Angelique mechanically, yet feeling easier upon learning the departure of La Corriveau.
"Perhaps so, my Lady. I am glad she is gone home. I shall never wish to see her again."
"Why?" asked Angelique, sharply, wondering if Fanchon had conjectured anything of her aunt's business.
"They say she has dealings with that horrid Mere Malheur, and I believe it," replied Fanchon, with a shrug of disgust.
"Ah! do you think Mere Malheur knows her business or any of your aunt's secrets, Fanchon?" asked Angelique, thoroughly roused.
"I think she does, my Lady,--you cannot live in a chimney with another without both getting black alike, and Mere Malheur is a black witch as sure as my aunt is a white one," was Fanchon's reply.
"What said your aunt on leaving?" asked her mistress.
"I did not see her leave, my Lady; I only learned from Ambroise Gariepy that she had crossed the river this morning to return to St. Valier."
"And who is Ambroise Gariepy, Fanchon? You have a wide circle of acquaintance for a young girl, I think!" Angelique knew the dangers of gossiping too well not to fear Fanchon's imprudences.
"Yes, my Lady," replied Fanchon with affected simplicity, "Ambroise Gariepy keeps the Lion Vert and the ferry upon the south shore; he brings me news and sometimes a little present from the pack of the Basque pedlers,--he brought me this comb, my Lady!"