I cannot assist you,” replied Cavigni, with a deliberating air. “Your only chance of refuting the calumny, and of making people understand what you wish them to believe, is to persist in your first assertion; for, when they are told of the Chevalier's want of discernment, it is possible they may suppose he never presumed to distress you with his admiration. – But then again – that diffidence, which renders you so insensible to your own perfections – they will consider this, and Valancourt's taste will not be doubted, though you arraign it. In short, they will, in spite of your endeavours, continue to believe, what might very naturally have occurred to them without any hint of mine – that the Chevalier has taste enough to admire a beautiful woman.”
“All this is very distressing!” said Madame Cheron, with a profound sigh.
“May I be allowed to ask what is so distressing?” said Madame Clairval, who was struck with the rueful countenance and doleful accent, with which this was delivered.
“It is a delicate subject,” replied Madame Cheron, “a very mortifying one to me.” “I am concerned to hear it,” said Madame Clairval, “I hope nothing has occurred, this evening, particularly to distress you?” “Alas, yes! within this half hour; and I know not where the report may end;-my pride was never so shocked before, but I assure you the report is totally void of foundation.” “Good God!” exclaimed Madame Clairval, “what can be done? Can you point out any way, by which I can assist, or console you?”
“The only way, by which you can do either,” replied Madame Cheron, “is to contradict the report wherever you go.”
“Well! but pray inform me what I am to contradict.”
“It is so very humiliating, that I know not how to mention it,” continued Madame Cheron, “but you shall judge. Do you observe that young man seated near the bottom of the table, who is conversing with Mademoiselle d'Emery?” “Yes, I perceive whom you mean.” “You observe how little he has the air of a person of condition; I was saying just now, that I should not have thought him a gentleman, if I had not seen him at this table.” “Well! but the report,” said Madame Clairval, “let me understand the subject of your distress.” “Ah! the subject of my distress,” replied Madame Cheron; “this person, whom nobody knows-(I beg pardon, madam, I did not consider what I said)-this impertinent young man, having had the presumption to address my niece, has, I fear, given rise to a report, that he had declared himself my admirer. Now only consider how very mortifying such a report must be! You, I know, will feel for my situation. A woman of my condition! – think how degrading even the rumour of such an alliance must be.”
“Degrading indeed, my poor friend!” said Madame Clairval. “You may rely upon it I will contradict the report wherever I go;” as she said which, she turned her attention upon another part of the company; and Cavigni, who had hitherto appeared a grave spectator of the scene, now fearing he should be unable to smother the laugh, that convulsed him, walked abruptly away.
“I perceive you do not know,” said the lady who sat near Madame Cheron, “that the gentleman you have been speaking of is Madame Clairval's nephew!” “Impossible!” exclaimed Madame Cheron, who now began to perceive, that she had been totally mistaken in her judgment of Valancourt, and to praise him aloud with as much servility, as she had before censured him with frivolous malignity.
Emily, who, during the greater part of this conversation, had been so absorbed in thought as to be spared the pain of hearing it, was now extremely surprised by her aunt's praise of Valancourt, with whose relationship to Madame Clairval she was unacquainted; but she was not sorry when Madame Cheron, who, though she now tried to appear unconcerned, was really much embarrassed, prepared to withdraw immediately after supper. Montoni then came to hand Madame Cheron to her carriage, and Cavigni, with an arch solemnity of countenance, followed with Emily, who, as she wished them good night, and drew up the glass, saw Valancourt among the crowd at the gates. Before the carriage drove off, he disappeared. Madame Cheron forbore to mention him to Emily, and, as soon as they reached the château, they separated for the night.
On the following morning, as Emily sat at breakfast with her aunt, a letter was brought to her, of which she knew the handwriting upon the cover; and, as she received it with a trembling hand, Madame Cheron hastily enquired from whom it came. Emily, with her leave, broke the seal, and, observing the signature of Valancourt, gave it unread to her aunt, who received it with impatience; and, as she looked it over, Emily endeavoured to read on her countenance its contents. Having returned the letter to her niece, whose eyes asked if she might examine it, “Yes, read it, child,” said Madame Cheron, in a manner less severe than she had expected, and Emily had, perhaps, never before so willingly obeyed her aunt. In this letter Valancourt said little of the interview of the preceding day, but concluded with declaring, that he would accept his dismission from Emily only, and with entreating, that she would allow him to wait upon her, on the approaching evening. When she read this, she was astonished at the moderation of Madame Cheron, and looked at her with timid expectation, as she said sorrowfully-“What am I to say, madam?”
“Why – we must see the young man, I believe,” replied her aunt, “and hear what he has further to say for himself. You may tell him he may come.” Emily dared scarcely credit what she heard. “Yet, stay,” added Madame Cheron, “I will tell him so myself.” She called for pen and ink; Emily still not daring to trust the emotions she felt, and almost sinking beneath them. Her surprise would have been less had she overheard, on the preceding evening, what Madame Cheron had not forgotten – that Valancourt was the nephew of Madame Clairval.
What were the particulars of her aunt's note Emily did not learn, but the result was a visit from Valancourt in the evening, whom Madame Cheron received alone, and they had a long conversation before Emily was called down. When she entered the room, her aunt was conversing with complacency, and she saw the eyes of Valancourt, as he impatiently rose, animated with hope.
“We have been talking over this affair,” said Madame Cheron, “the chevalier has been telling me, that the late Monsieur Clairval was the brother of the Countess de Duvarney, his mother. I only wish he had mentioned his relationship to Madame Clairval before; I certainly should have considered that circumstance as a sufficient introduction to my house.” Valancourt bowed, and was going to address Emily, but her aunt prevented him. “I have, therefore, consented that you shall receive his visits; and, though I will not bind myself by any promise, or say, that I shall consider him as my nephew, yet I shall permit the intercourse, and shall look forward to any further connection as an event, which may possibly take place in a course of years, provided the chevalier rises in his profession, or any circumstance occurs, which may make it prudent for him to take a wife. But Mons. Valancourt will observe, and you too, Emily, that, till that happens, I positively forbid any thoughts of marrying.”
Emily's countenance, during this coarse speech, varied every instant, and, towards its conclusion, her distress had so much increased, that she was on the point of leaving the room. Valancourt, meanwhile, scarcely less embarrassed, did not dare to look at her, for whom he was thus distressed; but, when Madame Cheron was silent, he said, “Flattering, madam, as your approbation is to me – highly as I am honoured by it – I have yet so much to fear, that I scarcely dare to hope.” “Pray, sir, explain yourself,” said Madame Cheron; an unexpected requisition, which embarrassed Valancourt again, and almost overcame him with confusion, at circumstances, on which, had he been only a spectator of the scene, he would have smiled.
“Till I receive Mademoiselle St. Aubert's permission to accept your indulgence,” said he, falteringly-“till she allows me to hope-”
“O! is that all?” interrupted Madame Cheron. “Well, I will take upon me to answer for her. But at the same time, sir, give me leave to observe to you, that I am her guardian, and that I expect, in every instance, that my will is hers.”
As she said this, she rose and quitted the room, leaving Emily
