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 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