“He had a very particular engagement with the Marquis La Rivière,” replied Cavigni, “which has detained him, I perceive, till this moment, or he would have done himself the honour of paying his respects to you, madam, sooner, as he commissioned me to say. But, I know not how it is – your conversation is so fascinating – that it can charm even memory, I think, or I should certainly have delivered my friend's apology before.”
“The apology, sir, would have been more satisfactory from himself,” said Madame Cheron, whose vanity was more mortified by Montoni's neglect, than flattered by Cavigni's compliment. Her manner, at this moment, and Cavigni's late conversation, now awakened a suspicion in Emily's mind, which, notwithstanding that some recollections served to confirm it, appeared preposterous. She thought she perceived, that Montoni was paying serious addresses to her aunt, and that she not only accepted them, but was jealously watchful of any appearance of neglect on his part. – That Madame Cheron at her years should elect a second husband was ridiculous, though her vanity made it not impossible; but that Montoni, with his discernment, his figure, and pretensions, should make a choice of Madame Cheron – appeared most wonderful. Her thoughts, however, did not dwell long on the subject; nearer interests pressed upon them; Valancourt, rejected of her aunt, and Valancourt dancing with a gay and beautiful partner, alternately tormented her mind. As she passed along the gardens she looked timidly forward, half fearing and half hoping that he might appear in the crowd; and the disappointment she felt on not seeing him, told her, that she had hoped more than she had feared.
Montoni soon after joined the party. He muttered over some short speech about regret for having been so long detained elsewhere, when he knew he should have the pleasure of seeing Madame Cheron here; and she, receiving the apology with the air of a pettish girl, addressed herself entirely to Cavigni, who looked archly at Montoni, as if he would have said, “I will not triumph over you too much; I will have the goodness to bear my honours meekly; but look sharp, Signor, or I shall certainly run away with your prize.”
The supper was served in different pavilions in the gardens, as well as in one large saloon of the château, and with more of taste, than either of splendour, or even of plenty. Madame Cheron and her party supped with Madame Clairval in the saloon, and Emily, with difficulty, disguised her emotion, when she saw Valancourt placed at the same table with herself. There, Madame Cheron having surveyed him with high displeasure, said to some person who sat next to her, “Pray, who is that young man?” “It is the Chevalier Valancourt,” was the answer. “Yes, I am not ignorant of his name, but who is this Chevalier Valancourt that thus intrudes himself at this table?” The attention of the person, to whom she spoke, was called off before she received a second reply. The table, at which they sat, was very long, and, Valancourt being seated, with his partner, near the bottom, and Emily near the top, the distance between them may account for his not immediately perceiving her. She avoided looking to that end of the table, but whenever her eyes happened to glance towards it, she observed him conversing with his beautiful companion, and the observation did not contribute to restore her peace, any more than the accounts she heard of the fortune and accomplishments of this same lady.
Madame Cheron, to whom these remarks were sometimes addressed, because they supported topics for trivial conversation, seemed indefatigable in her attempts to depreciate Valancourt, towards whom she felt all the petty resentment of a narrow pride. “I admire the lady,” said she, “but I must condemn her choice of a partner.” “Oh, the Chevalier Valancourt is one of the most accomplished young men we have,” replied the lady, to whom this remark was addressed: “it is whispered, that Mademoiselle d'Emery, and her large fortune, are to be his.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Madame Cheron, reddening with vexation, “it is impossible that she can be so destitute of taste; he has so little the air of a person of condition, that, if I did not see him at the table of Madame Clairval, I should never have suspected him to be one. I have besides particular reasons for believing the report to be erroneous.”
“I cannot doubt the truth of it,” replied the lady gravely, disgusted by the abrupt contradiction she had received, concerning her opinion of Valancourt's merit. “You will, perhaps, doubt it,” said Madame Cheron, “when I assure you, that it was only this morning that I rejected his suit.”
This was said without any intention of imposing the meaning it conveyed, but simply from a habit of considering herself to be the most important person in every affair that concerned her niece, and because literally she had rejected Valancourt. “Your reasons are indeed such as cannot be doubted,” replied the lady, with an ironical smile. “Any more than the discernment of the Chevalier Valancourt,” added Cavigni, who stood by the chair of Madame Cheron, and had heard her arrogate to herself, as he thought, a distinction which had been paid to her niece. “His discernment may be justly questioned, Signor,” said Madame Cheron, who was not flattered by what she understood to be an encomium on Emily.
“Alas!” exclaimed Cavigni, surveying Madame Cheron with affected ecstasy, “how vain is that assertion, while that face – that shape – that air – combine to refute it! Unhappy Valancourt! his discernment has been his destruction.”
Emily looked surprised and embarrassed; the lady, who had lately spoken, astonished, and Madame Cheron, who, though she did not perfectly understand this speech, was very ready to believe herself complimented by it, said smilingly, “O Signor! you are very gallant; but those, who hear you vindicate the Chevalier's discernment, will suppose that I am the object of it.”
“They cannot doubt it,” replied Cavigni, bowing low.
“And would not that be very mortifying, Signor?”
“Unquestionably it would,” said Cavigni.
“I cannot endure the thought,” said Madame Cheron.
“It is not to be endured,” replied Cavigni.
“What can be done to prevent so humiliating a mistake?” rejoined Madame Cheron.
“Alas! 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