be absent from
the city for some days, in consequence of the news from France. The
unfortunate Caroline would be deprived of the protection of his vigilant
eye.

The two women sat long arranging and planning their diabolical scheme.
There was no smile upon the cheek of Angelique now. Her dimples, which
drove men mad, had disappeared. Her lips, made to distil words sweeter
than honey of Hybla, were now drawn together in hard lines like La
Corriveau's,--they were cruel and untouched by a single trace of mercy.

The hours struck unheeded on the clock in the room, as it ticked louder
and louder like a conscious monitor beside them. Its slow finger had
marked each wicked thought, and recorded for all time each murderous
word as it passed their cruel lips.

La Corriveau held the casket in her lap with an air of satisfaction, and
sat with eyes fixed on Angelique, who was now silent.

"Water the roses well, Mademoiselle," said she; "in three days I shall
be here for a bouquet, and in less than thrice three days I promise you
there shall be a dirge sung for the lady of Beaumanoir."

"Only let it be done soon and surely," replied Angelique,--her very tone
grew harsh,--"but talk no more of it; your voice sounds like a cry from
a dark gallery that leads to hell. Would it were done! I could then shut
up the memory of it in a tomb of silence, forever, forever, and wash my
hands of a deed done by you, not me!"

"A deed done by you, not me!" She repeated the words, as if repeating
them made them true. She would shut up the memory of her crime forever;
she reflected not that the guilt is in the evil intent, and the sin the
same before God even if the deed be never done.

Angelique was already an eager sophist. She knew better than the
wretched creature whom she had bribed with money, how intensely wicked
was the thing she was tempting her to do; but her jealousy maddened her,
and her ambition could not let her halt in her course.

There was one thought which still tormented her "What would the
Intendant think? What would he say should he suspect her of the murder
of Caroline?" She feared his scrutinizing investigation; but, trusting
in her power, she risked his suspicions, nay, remembering his words,
made him in her own mind an accessory in the murder.

If she remembered Le Gardeur de Repentigny at all at this moment, it was
only to strangle the thought of him. She shied like a horse on the brink
of a precipice when the though