A mountain, not of remorse, but of apprehension, overwhelmed her for a time. But Angelique's mind was too intensely selfish, hard, and superficial, to give way to the remorse of a deeper nature.
She was angry at her own cowardice, but she feared the suspicions of Bigot. There was ever something in his dark nature which she could not fathom, and deep and crafty as she knew herself to be, she feared that he was more deep and more crafty than herself.
What if he should discover her hand in this bloody business? The thought drove her frantic, until she fancied she repented of the deed.
Had it brought a certainty, this crime, then--why, then--she had found a compensation for the risk she was running, for the pain she was enduring, which she tried to believe was regret and pity for her victim. Her anxiety redoubled when it occurred to her that Bigot, remembering her passionate appeals to him for the removal of Caroline, might suspect her of the murder as the one alone having a palpable interest in it.
"But Bigot shall never believe it even if he suspect it!" exclaimed she at last, shaking off her fears. "I have made fools of many men for my pleasure, I can surely blind one for my safety; and, after all, whose fault is it but Bigot's? He would not grant me the lettre de cachet nor keep his promise for her removal. He even gave me her life! But he lied; he did not mean it. He loved her too well, and meant to deceive me and marry her, and I have deceived him and shall marry him, that is all!" and Angelique laughed a hysterical laugh, such as Dives in his torments may sometimes give way to.
"La Corriveau has betrayed her trust in one terrible point," continued she, "she promised a death so easy that all men would say the lady of Beaumanoir died of heartbreak only, or by God's visitation! A natural death! The foul witch has used her stiletto and made a murder of that which, without it, had been none! Bigot will know it, must know it even if he dare not reveal it! for how in the name of all the saints is it to be concealed?
"But, my God! this will never do!" continued she, starting up, "I look like very guilt!" She stared fiercely in the mirror at her hollow eyes, pale cheeks, and white lips. She scarcely recognized herself. Her bloom and brightness had vanished for the time.
"What if I have inhaled some of the poisoned odor of those cursed roses?" 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."
