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Updated: May 15, 2025
"If I tell La Corriveau what you say of her there will be trouble in your wigwam, Pierre Ceinture!" "Do not do that, Ania!" replied the Indian, crossing himself earnestly; "do not tell La Corriveau, or she will make an image of wax and call it Pierre Ceinture, and she will melt it away before a slow fire, and as it melts my flesh and bones will melt away, too! Do not tell her, Fanchon Dodier!"
She shrewdly concluded that La Corriveau had business on hand which would not bear to be spoken of. "When you need my help, ask for it without scruple, Dame Dodier," said the old crone. "I see you have something on hand that may need my aid. I would go into the fire to serve you, although I would not burn my finger for any other woman in the world, and you know it."
Secured at once by her own fears, as well as by a rich yearly allowance paid her by Angelique, La Corriveau discreetly bridled her tongue over the death of Caroline, but she could not bridle her own evil passions in her own household. One summer day, of the year following the conquest of the Colony, the Goodman Dodier was found dead in his house at St. Valier.
Go at the stroke of twelve to-morrow night and she will let you in, Dame Dodier; but will she let you out again, eh?" The crone stood with her hat in her hand, and looked with a wicked glance at La Corriveau. "If she will let me in, I shall let myself out, Mere Malheur," replied Corriveau in a low tone. "But why do you ask that?"
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 Mere 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, Mere Malheur!
"Like one doomed to die, because she is too good to live. Sorrow is a bad pasture for a young creature like her to feed on, Dame Dodier!" was the answer, but it did not change a muscle on the face of La Corriveau. "Ay! but there are worse pastures than sorrow for young creatures like her, and she has found one of them," she replied, coldly.
After the death of her mother, some whispers of hidden treasures known only to herself, a rumor which she had cunningly set afloat, excited the cupidity of Louis Dodier, a simple habitan of St. Valier, and drew him into a marriage with her. It was a barren union. No child followed, with God's grace in its little hands, to create a mother's feelings and soften the callous heart of La Corriveau.
"Well, no! it is not well, but ill! but I want to recover my jewels, so go for your aunt, and bring her back with you. And mind, Fanchon!" said Angelique, lifting a warning finger, "if you utter one word of your errand to man or beast, or to the very trees of the wayside, I will cut out your tongue, Fanchon Dodier!" Fanchon trembled and grew pale at the fierce look of her mistress.
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