“Sure? yes, I am sure by a hundred tokens!” said Angélique, with an air of triumph. “He dare not even banish her for my sake, lest the secret of her concealment at Beaumanoir become known. We can safely risk his displeasure, even should he suspect that I have cut the knot he knew not how to untie.” “You are a bold girl!” exclaimed La Corriveau, looking on her admiringly, “you are worthy to wear the crown of Cleopatra, the queen of all the gypsies and enchantresses. I shall have less fear now to do your bidding, for you have a stronger spirit than mine to support you.” “'Tis well, La Corriveau! Let this vial of Brinvilliers bring me the good fortune I crave, and I will fill your lap with gold. If the lady of Beaumanoir shall find death in a bouquet of flowers, let them be roses!” “But how and where to find roses? they have ceased blooming,” said La Corriveau, hating Angélique's sentiment, and glad to find an objection to it. “Not for her, La Corriveau; fate is kinder than you think!” Angélique threw back a rich curtain and disclosed a recess filled with pots of blooming roses and flowers of various hues. “The roses are blooming here which will form the bouquet of Beaumanoir.” “You are of rare ingenuity, Mademoiselle,” replied La Corriveau, admiringly. “If Satan prompts you not, it is because he can teach you nothing either in love or stratagem.” “Love!” replied Angélique quickly, “do not name that! No! I have sacrificed all love, or I should not be taking counsel of La Corriveau!” Angélique's thoughts flashed back upon Le Gardeur for one regretful moment. “No, it is not love,” continued she, “but the duplicity of a man before whom I have lowered my pride. It is the vengeance I have vowed upon a woman for whose sake I am trifled with! It is that prompts me to this deed! But no matter, shut up the casket, La Corriveau; we will talk now of how and when this thing is to be done.” The witch shut up her infernal casket of ebony, leaving the vial of Brinvilliers shining like a ruby in the lamplight upon the polished table. The two women sat down, their foreheads almost touching together, with their eyes flashing in lurid sympathy as they eagerly discussed the position of things in the Château. The apartments of Caroline, the hours of rest and activity, were all well known to Angélique, who had adroitly fished out every fact from the unsuspecting Fanchon Dodier, as had also La Corriveau. It was known to Angélique that the Intendant would 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 Angélique 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.