The Mysteries of Udolpho

  CHAPTER XII

  Some pow'r impart the spear and shield, At which the wizard passions fly, By which the giant follies die. COLLINS

  Madame Cheron's house stood at a little distance from the city ofTholouse, and was surrounded by extensive gardens, in which Emily, whohad risen early, amused herself with wandering before breakfast. From aterrace, that extended along the highest part of them, was a wide viewover Languedoc. On the distant horizon to the south, she discoveredthe wild summits of the Pyrenees, and her fancy immediately paintedthe green pastures of Gascony at their feet. Her heart pointed to herpeaceful home--to the neighbourhood where Valancourt was--where St.Aubert had been; and her imagination, piercing the veil of distance,brought that home to her eyes in all its interesting and romanticbeauty. She experienced an inexpressible pleasure in believing, that shebeheld the country around it, though no feature could be distinguished,except the retiring chain of the Pyrenees; and, inattentive to the sceneimmediately before her, and to the flight of time, she continued to leanon the window of a pavilion, that terminated the terrace, with her eyesfixed on Gascony, and her mind occupied with the interesting ideas whichthe view of it awakened, till a servant came to tell her breakfastwas ready. Her thoughts thus recalled to the surrounding objects,the straight walks, square parterres, and artificial fountains of thegarden, could not fail, as she passed through it, to appear the worse,opposed to the negligent graces, and natural beauties of the grounds ofLa Vallee, upon which her recollection had been so intensely employed.

  'Whither have you been rambling so early?' said Madame Cheron, as herniece entered the breakfast-room. 'I don't approve of these solitarywalks;' and Emily was surprised, when, having informed her aunt, thatshe had been no further than the gardens, she understood these to beincluded in the reproof. 'I desire you will not walk there again atso early an hour unattended,' said Madame Cheron; 'my gardens are veryextensive; and a young woman, who can make assignations by moon-light,at La Vallee, is not to be trusted to her own inclinations elsewhere.'

  Emily, extremely surprised and shocked, had scarcely power to beg anexplanation of these words, and, when she did, her aunt absolutelyrefused to give it, though, by her severe looks, and half sentences,she appeared anxious to impress Emily with a belief, that she was wellinformed of some degrading circumstances of her conduct. Consciousinnocence could not prevent a blush from stealing over Emily's cheek;she trembled, and looked confusedly under the bold eye of Madame Cheron,who blushed also; but hers was the blush of triumph, such as sometimesstains the countenance of a person, congratulating himself on thepenetration which had taught him to suspect another, and who loses bothpity for the supposed criminal, and indignation of his guilt, in thegratification of his own vanity.

  Emily, not doubting that her aunt's mistake arose from the havingobserved her ramble in the garden on the night preceding her departurefrom La Vallee, now mentioned the motive of it, at which Madame Cheronsmiled contemptuously, refusing either to accept this explanation, orto give her reasons for refusing it; and, soon after, she concluded thesubject by saying, 'I never trust people's assertions, I always judgeof them by their actions; but I am willing to try what will be yourbehaviour in future.'

  Emily, less surprised by her aunt's moderation and mysterious silence,than by the accusation she had received, deeply considered the latter,and scarcely doubted, that it was Valancourt whom she had seen at nightin the gardens of La Vallee, and that he had been observed there byMadame Cheron; who now passing from one painful topic only to reviveanother almost equally so, spoke of the situation of her niece'sproperty, in the hands of M. Motteville. While she thus talked withostentatious pity of Emily's misfortunes, she failed not to inculcatethe duties of humility and gratitude, or to render Emily fully sensibleof every cruel mortification, who soon perceived, that she was to beconsidered as a dependant, not only by her aunt, but by her aunt'sservants.

  She was now informed, that a large party were expected to dinner, onwhich account Madame Cheron repeated the lesson of the preceding night,concerning her conduct in company, and Emily wished, that she might havecourage enough to practise it. Her aunt then proceeded to examine thesimplicity of her dress, adding, that she expected to see her attiredwith gaiety and taste; after which she condescended to shew Emily thesplendour of her chateau, and to point out the particular beauty, orelegance, which she thought distinguished each of her numerous suites ofapartments. She then withdrew to her toilet, the throne of her homage,and Emily to her chamber, to unpack her books, and to try to charm hermind by reading, till the hour of dressing.

  When the company arrived, Emily entered the saloon with an air oftimidity, which all her efforts could not overcome, and which wasincreased by the consciousness of Madame Cheron's severe observation.Her mourning dress, the mild dejection of her beautiful countenance, andthe retiring diffidence of her manner, rendered her a very interestingobject to many of the company; among whom she distinguished SignorMontoni, and his friend Cavigni, the late visitors at M. Quesnel's, whonow seemed to converse with Madame Cheron with the familiarity of oldacquaintance, and she to attend to them with particular pleasure.

  This Signor Montoni had an air of conscious superiority, animatedby spirit, and strengthened by talents, to which every person seemedinvoluntarily to yield. The quickness of his perceptions was strikinglyexpressed on his countenance, yet that countenance could submitimplicitly to occasion; and, more than once in this day, the triumph ofart over nature might have been discerned in it. His visage was long,and rather narrow, yet he was called handsome; and it was, perhaps,the spirit and vigour of his soul, sparkling through his features, thattriumphed for him. Emily felt admiration, but not the admiration thatleads to esteem; for it was mixed with a degree of fear she knew notexactly wherefore.

  Cavigni was gay and insinuating as formerly; and, though he paid almostincessant attention to Madame Cheron, he found some opportunities ofconversing with Emily, to whom he directed, at first, the sallies of hiswit, but now and then assumed an air of tenderness, which she observed,and shrunk from. Though she replied but little, the gentleness andsweetness of her manners encouraged him to talk, and she felt relievedwhen a young lady of the party, who spoke incessantly, obtruded herselfon his notice. This lady, who possessed all the sprightliness ofa Frenchwoman, with all her coquetry, affected to understand everysubject, or rather there was no affectation in the case; for, neverlooking beyond the limits of her own ignorance, she believed she hadnothing to learn. She attracted notice from all; amused some, disgustedothers for a moment, and was then forgotten.

  This day passed without any material occurrence; and Emily, thoughamused by the characters she had seen, was glad when she could retire tothe recollections, which had acquired with her the character of duties.

  A fortnight passed in a round of dissipation and company, and Emily, whoattended Madame Cheron in all her visits, was sometimes entertained, butoftener wearied. She was struck by the apparent talents and knowledgedisplayed in the various conversations she listened to, and it was longbefore she discovered, that the talents were for the most part those ofimposture, and the knowledge nothing more than was necessary to assistthem. But what deceived her most, was the air of constant gaiety andgood spirits, displayed by every visitor, and which she supposed toarise from content as constant, and from benevolence as ready. Atlength, from the over-acting of some, less accomplished than the others,she could perceive, that, though contentment and benevolence arethe only sure sources of cheerfulness, the immoderate and feverishanimation, usually exhibited in large parties, results partly from aninsensibility to the cares, which benevolence must sometimes derivefrom the sufferings of others, and partly from a desire to display theappearance of that prosperity, which they know will command submissionand attention to themselves.

  Emily's pleasantest hours were passed in the pavilion of the terrace, towhich she retired, when she could steal from observation, with a book toovercome, or a lute to indulge, her melancholy. There, as she satwi
th her eyes fixed on the far-distant Pyrenees, and her thoughts onValancourt and the beloved scenes of Gascony, she would play the sweetand melancholy songs of her native province--the popular songs she hadlistened to from her childhood.

  One evening, having excused herself from accompanying her aunt abroad,she thus withdrew to the pavilion, with books and her lute. It wasthe mild and beautiful evening of a sultry day, and the windows, whichfronted the west, opened upon all the glory of a setting sun. Its raysilluminated, with strong splendour, the cliffs of the Pyrenees, andtouched their snowy tops with a roseate hue, that remained, long afterthe sun had sunk below the horizon, and the shades of twilight hadstolen over the landscape. Emily touched her lute with that finemelancholy expression, which came from her heart. The pensive hour andthe scene, the evening light on the Garonne, that flowed at no greatdistance, and whose waves, as they passed towards La Vallee, she oftenviewed with a sigh,--these united circumstances disposed her mind totenderness, and her thoughts were with Valancourt, of whom she had heardnothing since her arrival at Tholouse, and now that she was removed fromhim, and in uncertainty, she perceived all the interest he held in herheart. Before she saw Valancourt she had never met a mind and taste soaccordant with her own, and, though Madame Cheron told her much of thearts of dissimulation, and that the elegance and propriety of thought,which she so much admired in her lover, were assumed for the purpose ofpleasing her, she could scarcely doubt their truth. This possibility,however, faint as it was, was sufficient to harass her mind withanxiety, and she found, that few conditions are more painful than thatof uncertainty, as to the merit of a beloved object; an uncertainty,which she would not have suffered, had her confidence in her ownopinions been greater.

  She was awakened from her musing by the sound of horses' feet alonga road, that wound under the windows of the pavilion, and a gentlemanpassed on horseback, whose resemblance to Valancourt, in air and figure,for the twilight did not permit a view of his features, immediatelystruck her. She retired hastily from the lattice, fearing to be seen,yet wishing to observe further, while the stranger passed on withoutlooking up, and, when she returned to the lattice, she saw him faintlythrough the twilight, winding under the high trees, that led toTholouse. This little incident so much disturbed her spirits, that thetemple and its scenery were no longer interesting to her, and, afterwalking awhile on the terrace, she returned to the chateau.

  Madame Cheron, whether she had seen a rival admired, had lost at play,or had witnessed an entertainment more splendid than her own, wasreturned from her visit with a temper more than usually discomposed; andEmily was glad, when the hour arrived, in which she could retire to thesolitude of her own apartment.

  On the following morning, she was summoned to Madame Cheron, whosecountenance was inflamed with resentment, and, as Emily advanced, sheheld out a letter to her.

  'Do you know this hand?' said she, in a severe tone, and with a lookthat was intended to search her heart, while Emily examined the letterattentively, and assured her, that she did not.

  'Do not provoke me,' said her aunt; 'you do know it, confess the truthimmediately. I insist upon your confessing the truth instantly.'

  Emily was silent, and turned to leave the room, but Madame called herback. 'O you are guilty, then,' said she, 'you do know the hand.' 'Ifyou was before in doubt of this, madam,' replied Emily calmly, 'why didyou accuse me of having told a falsehood.' Madame Cheron did notblush; but her niece did, a moment after, when she heard the name ofValancourt. It was not, however, with the consciousness of deservingreproof, for, if she ever had seen his hand-writing, the presentcharacters did not bring it to her recollection.

  'It is useless to deny it,' said Madame Cheron, 'I see in yourcountenance, that you are no stranger to this letter; and, I dare say,you have received many such from this impertinent young man, without myknowledge, in my own house.'

  Emily, shocked at the indelicacy of this accusation, still more thanby the vulgarity of the former, instantly forgot the pride, thathad imposed silence, and endeavoured to vindicate herself from theaspersion, but Madame Cheron was not to be convinced.

  'I cannot suppose,' she resumed, 'that this young man would have takenthe liberty of writing to me, if you had not encouraged him to do so,and I must now'--'You will allow me to remind you, madam,' said Emilytimidly, 'of some particulars of a conversation we had at La Vallee.I then told you truly, that I had only not forbade Monsieur Valancourtfrom addressing my family.'

  'I will not be interrupted,' said Madame Cheron, interrupting her niece,'I was going to say--I--I-have forgot what I was going to say. Buthow happened it that you did not forbid him?' Emily was silent. 'Howhappened it that you encouraged him to trouble me with this letter?--Ayoung man that nobody knows;--an utter stranger in the place,--a youngadventurer, no doubt, who is looking out for a good fortune. However, onthat point he has mistaken his aim.'

  'His family was known to my father,' said Emily modestly, and withoutappearing to be sensible of the last sentence.

  'O! that is no recommendation at all,' replied her aunt, with her usualreadiness upon this topic; 'he took such strange fancies to people! Hewas always judging persons by their countenances, and was continuallydeceived.' 'Yet it was but now, madam, that you judged me guilty by mycountenance,' said Emily, with a design of reproving Madame Cheron, towhich she was induced by this disrespectful mention of her father.

  'I called you here,' resumed her aunt, colouring, 'to tell you, thatI will not be disturbed in my own house by any letters, or visits fromyoung men, who may take a fancy to flatter you. This M. de Valantine--Ithink you call him, has the impertinence to beg I will permit him topay his respects to me! I shall send him a proper answer. And for you,Emily, I repeat it once for all--if you are not contented to conformto my directions, and to my way of live, I shall give up the task ofoverlooking your conduct--I shall no longer trouble myself with youreducation, but shall send you to board in a convent.'

  'Dear madam,' said Emily, bursting into tears, and overcome by the rudesuspicions her aunt had expressed, 'how have I deserved these reproofs?'She could say no more; and so very fearful was she of acting with anydegree of impropriety in the affair itself, that, at the present moment,Madame Cheron might perhaps have prevailed with her to bind herself bya promise to renounce Valancourt for ever. Her mind, weakened by herterrors, would no longer suffer her to view him as she had formerlydone; she feared the error of her own judgment, not that of MadameCheron, and feared also, that, in her former conversation with him, atLa Vallee, she had not conducted herself with sufficient reserve. Sheknew, that she did not deserve the coarse suspicions, which her aunt hadthrown out, but a thousand scruples rose to torment her, such as wouldnever have disturbed the peace of Madame Cheron. Thus rendered anxiousto avoid every opportunity of erring, and willing to submit to anyrestrictions, that her aunt should think proper, she expressed anobedience, to which Madame Cheron did not give much confidence, andwhich she seemed to consider as the consequence of either fear, orartifice.

  'Well, then,' said she, 'promise me that you will neither see this youngman, nor write to him without my consent.' 'Dear madam,' replied Emily,'can you suppose I would do either, unknown to you!' 'I don't knowwhat to suppose; there is no knowing how young women will act. It isdifficult to place any confidence in them, for they have seldom senseenough to wish for the respect of the world.'

  'Alas, madam!' said Emily, 'I am anxious for my own respect; my fathertaught me the value of that; he said if I deserved my own esteem, thatthe world would follow of course.'

  'My brother was a good kind of a man,' replied Madame Cheron, 'but hedid not know the world. I am sure I have always felt a proper respectfor myself, yet--' she stopped, but she might have added, that the worldhad not always shewn respect to her, and this without impeaching itsjudgment.

  'Well!' resumed Madame Cheron, 'you have not give me the promise,though, that I demand.' Emily readily gave it, and, being then sufferedto withdraw, she walked in the garden; tried to com
pose her spirits,and, at length, arrived at her favourite pavilion at the end of theterrace, where, seating herself at one of the embowered windows, thatopened upon a balcony, the stillness and seclusion of the scene allowedher to recollect her thoughts, and to arrange them so as to form aclearer judgment of her former conduct. She endeavoured to review withexactness all the particulars of her conversation with Valancourt at LaVallee, had the satisfaction to observe nothing, that could alarm herdelicate pride, and thus to be confirmed in the self-esteem, which wasso necessary to her peace. Her mind then became tranquil, and she sawValancourt amiable and intelligent, as he had formerly appeared, andMadame Cheron neither the one, or the other. The remembrance of herlover, however, brought with it many very painful emotions, for it by nomeans reconciled her to the thought of resigning him; and, Madame Cheronhaving already shewn how highly she disapproved of the attachment, sheforesaw much suffering from the opposition of interests; yet with allthis was mingled a degree of delight, which, in spite of reason, partookof hope. She determined, however, that no consideration should induceher to permit a clandestine correspondence, and to observe in herconversation with Valancourt, should they ever meet again, the samenicety of reserve, which had hitherto marked her conduct. As sherepeated the words--'should we ever meet again!' she shrunk as if thiswas a circumstance, which had never before occurred to her, and tearscame to her eyes, which she hastily dried, for she heard footstepsapproaching, and then the door of the pavilion open, and, on turning,she saw--Valancourt. An emotion of mingled pleasure, surprise andapprehension pressed so suddenly upon her heart as almost to overcomeher spirits; the colour left her cheeks, then returned brighter thanbefore, and she was for a moment unable to speak, or to rise from herchair. His countenance was the mirror, in which she saw her own emotionsreflected, and it roused her to self-command. The joy, which hadanimated his features, when he entered the pavilion, was suddenlyrepressed, as, approaching, he perceived her agitation, and, in atremulous voice, enquired after her health. Recovered from her firstsurprise, she answered him with a tempered smile; but a variety ofopposite emotions still assailed her heart, and struggled to subduethe mild dignity of her manner. It was difficult to tell whichpredominated--the joy of seeing Valancourt, or the terror of her aunt'sdispleasure, when she should hear of this meeting. After some short andembarrassed conversation, she led him into the gardens, and enquired ifhe had seen Madame Cheron. 'No,' said he, 'I have not yet seen her, forthey told me she was engaged, and as soon as I learned that you were inthe gardens, I came hither.' He paused a moment, in great agitation, andthen added, 'May I venture to tell you the purport of my visit, withoutincurring your displeasure, and to hope, that you will not accuse me ofprecipitation in now availing myself of the permission you once gaveme of addressing your family?' Emily, who knew not what to reply, wasspared from further perplexity, and was sensible only of fear, when onraising her eyes, she saw Madame Cheron turn into the avenue. As theconsciousness of innocence returned, this fear was so far dissipated asto permit her to appear tranquil, and, instead of avoiding her aunt, sheadvanced with Valancourt to meet her. The look of haughty and impatientdispleasure, with which Madame Cheron regarded them, made Emily shrink,who understood from a single glance, that this meeting was believed tohave been more than accidental: having mentioned Valancourt's name, shebecame again too much agitated to remain with them, and returned intothe chateau; where she awaited long, in a state of trembling anxiety,the conclusion of the conference. She knew not how to account forValancourt's visit to her aunt, before he had received the permissionhe solicited, since she was ignorant of a circumstance, which would haverendered the request useless, even if Madame Cheron had been inclined togrant it. Valancourt, in the agitation of his spirits, had forgotten todate his letter, so that it was impossible for Madame Cheron to returnan answer; and, when he recollected this circumstance, he was, perhaps,not so sorry for the omission as glad of the excuse it allowed him forwaiting on her before she could send a refusal.

  Madame Cheron had a long conversation with Valancourt, and, when shereturned to the chateau, her countenance expressed ill-humour, but notthe degree of severity, which Emily had apprehended. 'I have dismissedthis young man, at last,' said she, 'and I hope my house will neveragain be disturbed with similar visits. He assures me, that yourinterview was not preconcerted.'

  'Dear madam!' said Emily in extreme emotion, 'you surely did not ask himthe question!' 'Most certainly I did; you could not suppose I should beso imprudent as to neglect it.'

  'Good God!' exclaimed Emily, 'what an opinion must he form of me, sinceyou, Madam, could express a suspicion of such ill conduct!'

  'It is of very little consequence what opinion he may form of you,'replied her aunt, 'for I have put an end to the affair; but I believehe will not form a worse opinion of me for my prudent conduct. I let himsee, that I was not to be trifled with, and that I had more delicacy,than to permit any clandestine correspondence to be carried on in myhouse.'

  Emily had frequently heard Madame Cheron use the word delicacy, but shewas now more than usually perplexed to understand how she meant to applyit in this instance, in which her whole conduct appeared to merit thevery reverse of the term.

  'It was very inconsiderate of my brother,' resumed Madame Cheron, 'toleave the trouble of overlooking your conduct to me; I wish you was wellsettled in life. But if I find, that I am to be further troubled withsuch visitors as this M. Valancourt, I shall place you in a convent atonce;--so remember the alternative. This young man has the impertinenceto own to me,--he owns it! that his fortune is very small, and that heis chiefly dependent on an elder brother and on the profession he haschosen! He should have concealed these circumstances, at least, if heexpected to succeed with me. Had he the presumption to suppose I wouldmarry my niece to a person such as he describes himself!'

  Emily dried her tears when she heard of the candid confession ofValancourt; and, though the circumstances it discovered were afflictingto her hopes, his artless conduct gave her a degree of pleasure, thatovercame every other emotion. But she was compelled, even thus earlyin life, to observe, that good sense and noble integrity are not alwayssufficient to cope with folly and narrow cunning; and her heart was pureenough to allow her, even at this trying moment, to look with more prideon the defeat of the former, than with mortification on the conquests ofthe latter.

  Madame Cheron pursued her triumph. 'He has also thought proper to tellme, that he will receive his dismission from no person but yourself;this favour, however, I have absolutely refused him. He shall learn,that it is quite sufficient, that I disapprove him. And I take thisopportunity of repeating,--that if you concert any means of interviewunknown to me, you shall leave my house immediately.'

  'How little do you know me, madam, that you should think such aninjunction necessary!' said Emily, trying to suppress her emotion, 'howlittle of the dear parents, who educated me!'

  Madame Cheron now went to dress for an engagement, which she had madefor the evening; and Emily, who would gladly have been excused fromattending her aunt, did not ask to remain at home lest her requestshould be attributed to an improper motive. When she retired to her ownroom, the little fortitude, which had supported her in the presence ofher relation, forsook her; she remembered only that Valancourt, whosecharacter appeared more amiable from every circumstance, that unfoldedit, was banished from her presence, perhaps, for ever, and she passedthe time in weeping, which, according to her aunt's direction, she oughtto have employed in dressing. This important duty was, however, quicklydispatched; though, when she joined Madame Cheron at table, her eyesbetrayed, that she had been in tears, and drew upon her a severereproof.

  Her efforts to appear cheerful did not entirely fail when she joined thecompany at the house of Madame Clairval, an elderly widow lady, who hadlately come to reside at Tholouse, on an estate of her late husband. Shehad lived many years at Paris in a splendid style; had naturally a gaytemper, and, since her residence at Tholouse, had given some of the mostmagnificent
entertainments, that had been seen in that neighbourhood.

  These excited not only the envy, but the trifling ambition of MadameCheron, who, since she could not rival the splendour of her festivities,was desirous of being ranked in the number of her most intimate friends.For this purpose she paid her the most obsequious attention, and madea point of being disengaged, whenever she received an invitation fromMadame Clairval, of whom she talked, wherever she went, and derived muchself-consequence from impressing a belief on her general acquaintance,that they were on the most familiar footing.

  The entertainments of this evening consisted of a ball and supper; itwas a fancy ball, and the company danced in groups in the gardens,which were very extensive. The high and luxuriant trees, under which thegroups assembled, were illuminated with a profusion of lamps, disposedwith taste and fancy. The gay and various dresses of the company, someof whom were seated on the turf, conversing at their ease, observingthe cotillons, taking refreshments, and sometimes touching sportively aguitar; the gallant manners of the gentlemen, the exquisitely capriciousair of the ladies; the light fantastic steps of their dances; themusicians, with the lute, the hautboy, and the tabor, seated at the footof an elm, and the sylvan scenery of woods around were circumstances,that unitedly formed a characteristic and striking picture of Frenchfestivity. Emily surveyed the gaiety of the scene with a melancholy kindof pleasure, and her emotion may be imagined when, as she stood with heraunt, looking at one of the groups, she perceived Valancourt; saw himdancing with a young and beautiful lady, saw him conversing with herwith a mixture of attention and familiarity, such as she had seldomobserved in his manner. She turned hastily from the scene, and attemptedto draw away Madame Cheron, who was conversing with Signor Cavigni,and neither perceived Valancourt, or was willing to be interrupted. Afaintness suddenly came over Emily, and, unable to support herself, shesat down on a turf bank beneath the trees, where several other personswere seated. One of these, observing the extreme paleness of hercountenance, enquired if she was ill, and begged she would allow him tofetch her a glass of water, for which politeness she thanked him, butdid not accept it. Her apprehension lest Valancourt should observe heremotion made her anxious to overcome it, and she succeeded so far asto re-compose her countenance. Madame Cheron was still conversing withCavigni; and the Count Bauvillers, who had addressed Emily, made someobservations upon the scene, to which she answered almost unconsciously,for her mind was still occupied with the idea of Valancourt, to whomit was with extreme uneasiness that she remained so near. Some remarks,however, which the Count made upon the dance obliged her to turn hereyes towards it, and, at that moment, Valancourt's met hers. Her colourfaded again, she felt, that she was relapsing into faintness, andinstantly averted her looks, but not before she had observed the alteredcountenance of Valancourt, on perceiving her. She would have left thespot immediately, had she not been conscious, that this conduct wouldhave shewn him more obviously the interest he held in her heart; and,having tried to attend to the Count's conversation, and to join init, she, at length, recovered her spirits. But, when he made someobservation on Valancourt's partner, the fear of shewing that she wasinterested in the remark, would have betrayed it to him, had notthe Count, while he spoke, looked towards the person of whom he wasspeaking. 'The lady,' said he, 'dancing with that young Chevalier, whoappears to be accomplished in every thing, but in dancing, is rankedamong the beauties of Tholouse. She is handsome, and her fortune will bevery large. I hope she will make a better choice in a partner for lifethan she has done in a partner for the dance, for I observe he has justput the set into great confusion; he does nothing but commit blunders. Iam surprised, that, with his air and figure, he has not taken more careto accomplish himself in dancing.'

  Emily, whose heart trembled at every word, that was now uttered,endeavoured to turn the conversation from Valancourt, by enquiringthe name of the lady, with whom he danced; but, before the Count couldreply, the dance concluded, and Emily, perceiving that Valancourt wascoming towards her, rose and joined Madame Cheron.

  'Here is the Chevalier Valancourt, madam,' said she in a whisper, 'praylet us go.' Her aunt immediately moved on, but not before Valancourt hadreached them, who bowed lowly to Madame Cheron, and with an earnest anddejected look to Emily, with whom, notwithstanding all her effort, anair of more than common reserve prevailed. The presence of MadameCheron prevented Valancourt from remaining, and he passed on with acountenance, whose melancholy reproached her for having increased it.Emily was called from the musing fit, into which she had fallen, by theCount Bauvillers, who was known to her aunt.

  'I have your pardon to beg, ma'amselle,' said he, 'for a rudeness, whichyou will readily believe was quite unintentional. I did not know, thatthe Chevalier was your acquaintance, when I so freely criticised hisdancing.' Emily blushed and smiled, and Madame Cheron spared her thedifficulty of replying. 'If you mean the person, who has just passedus,' said she, 'I can assure you he is no acquaintance of either mine,or ma'amselle St. Aubert's: I know nothing of him.'

  'O! that is the Chevalier Valancourt,' said Cavigni carelessly, andlooking back. 'You know him then?' said Madame Cheron. 'I am notacquainted with him,' replied Cavigni. 'You don't know, then, the reasonI have to call him impertinent;--he has had the presumption to admire myniece!'

  'If every man deserves the title of impertinent, who admiresma'amselle St. Aubert,' replied Cavigni, 'I fear there are a great manyimpertinents, and I am willing to acknowledge myself one of the number.'

  'O Signor!' said Madame Cheron, with an affected smile, 'I perceive youhave learnt the art of complimenting, since you came into France. But itis cruel to compliment children, since they mistake flattery for truth.'

  Cavigni turned away his face for a moment, and then said with a studiedair, 'Whom then are we to compliment, madam? for it would be absurd tocompliment a woman of refined understanding; SHE is above all praise.'As he finished the sentence he gave Emily a sly look, and the smile,that had lurked in his eye, stole forth. She perfectly understood it,and blushed for Madame Cheron, who replied, 'You are perfectly right,signor, no woman of understanding can endure compliment.'

  'I have heard Signor Montoni say,' rejoined Cavigni, 'that he never knewbut one woman who deserved it.'

  'Well!' exclaimed Madame Cheron, with a short laugh, and a smile ofunutterable complacency, 'and who could she be?'

  'O!' replied Cavigni, 'it is impossible to mistake her, for certainlythere is not more than one woman in the world, who has both the merit todeserve compliment and the wit to refuse it. Most women reverse the caseentirely.' He looked again at Emily, who blushed deeper than before forher aunt, and turned from him with displeasure.

  'Well, signor!' said Madame Cheron, 'I protest you are a Frenchman; Inever heard a foreigner say any thing half so gallant as that!'

  'True, madam,' said the Count, who had been some time silent, and with alow bow, 'but the gallantry of the compliment had been utterly lost, butfor the ingenuity that discovered the application.'

  Madame Cheron did not perceive the meaning of this too satiricalsentence, and she, therefore, escaped the pain, which Emily felt onher account. 'O! here comes Signor Montoni himself,' said her aunt, 'Iprotest I will tell him all the fine things you have been saying to me.'The Signor, however, passed at this moment into another walk. 'Pray, whois it, that has so much engaged your friend this evening?' asked MadameCheron, with an air of chagrin, 'I have not seen him once.'

  'He had a very particular engagement with the Marquis La Riviere,'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 itis--your conversation is so fascinating--that it can charm even memory,I think, or I should certainly have delivered my friend's apologybefore.'

  'The apology, sir, would have been more satisfactory from himself,' saidMadame Cheron, whose vanity was more mortified by Montoni's neglect,than flattered by Cavigni's compli
ment. Her manner, at this moment, andCavigni'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 waspaying serious addresses to her aunt, and that she not only acceptedthem, but was jealously watchful of any appearance of neglect on hispart.--That Madame Cheron at her years should elect a second husband wasridiculous, though her vanity made it not impossible; but that Montoni,with his discernment, his figure, and pretensions, should make a choiceof Madame Cheron--appeared most wonderful. Her thoughts, however, didnot dwell long on the subject; nearer interests pressed upon them;Valancourt, rejected of her aunt, and Valancourt dancing with a gay andbeautiful partner, alternately tormented her mind. As she passed alongthe gardens she looked timidly forward, half fearing and half hopingthat he might appear in the crowd; and the disappointment she felt onnot seeing him, told her, that she had hoped more than she had feared.

  Montoni soon after joined the party. He muttered over some short speechabout regret for having been so long detained elsewhere, when he knewhe should have the pleasure of seeing Madame Cheron here; and she,receiving the apology with the air of a pettish girl, addressed herselfentirely to Cavigni, who looked archly at Montoni, as if he would havesaid, 'I will not triumph over you too much; I will have the goodness tobear my honours meekly; but look sharp, Signor, or I shall certainly runaway with your prize.'

  The supper was served in different pavilions in the gardens, as well asin one large saloon of the chateau, and with more of taste, than eitherof splendour, or even of plenty. Madame Cheron and her party supped withMadame Clairval in the saloon, and Emily, with difficulty, disguised heremotion, when she saw Valancourt placed at the same table with herself.There, Madame Cheron having surveyed him with high displeasure, said tosome person who sat next to her, 'Pray, who IS that young man?' 'It isthe Chevalier Valancourt,' was the answer. 'Yes, I am not ignorantof his name, but who is this Chevalier Valancourt that thus intrudeshimself at this table?' The attention of the person, who whom she spoke,was called off before she received a second reply. The table, at whichthey sat, was very long, and, Valancourt being seated, with his partner,near the bottom, and Emily near the top, the distance between them mayaccount for his not immediately perceiving her. She avoided looking tothat end of the table, but whenever her eyes happened to glance towardsit, she observed him conversing with his beautiful companion, and theobservation did not contribute to restore her peace, any more than theaccounts she heard of the fortune and accomplishments of this same lady.

  Madame Cheron, to whom these remarks were sometimes addressed, becausethey supported topics for trivial conversation, seemed indefatigablein her attempts to depreciate Valancourt, towards whom she felt all thepetty resentment of a narrow pride. 'I admire the lady,' said she, 'butI must condemn her choice of a partner.' 'Oh, the Chevalier Valancourtis one of the most accomplished young men we have,' replied the lady,to whom this remark was addressed: 'it is whispered, that MademoiselleD'Emery, and her large fortune, are to be his.'

  'Impossible!' exclaimed Madame Cheron, reddening with vexation, 'it isimpossible that she can be so destitute of taste; he has so little theair of a person of condition, that, if I did not see him at the tableof Madame Clairval, I should never have suspected him to be one. I havebesides particular reasons for believing the report to be erroneous.'

  'I cannot doubt the truth of it,' replied the lady gravely, disgustedby the abrupt contradiction she had received, concerning her opinion ofValancourt's merit. 'You will, perhaps, doubt it,' said Madame Cheron,'when I assure you, that it was only this morning that I rejected hissuit.' This was said without any intention of imposing the meaning itconveyed, but simply from a habit of considering herself to be the mostimportant person in every affair that concerned her niece, and becauseliterally she had rejected Valancourt. 'Your reasons are indeed such ascannot be doubted,' replied the lady, with an ironical smile. 'Any morethan the discernment of the Chevalier Valancourt,' added Cavigni, whostood by the chair of Madame Cheron, and had heard her arrogate toherself, 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 affectedecstasy, 'how vain is that assertion, while that face--that shape--thatair--combine to refute it! Unhappy Valancourt! his discernment has beenhis destruction.'

  Emily looked surprised and embarrassed; the lady, who had latelyspoke, astonished, and Madame Cheron, who, though she did not perfectlyunderstand this speech, was very ready to believe herself complimentedby it, said smilingly, 'O Signor! you are very gallant; but those, whohear you vindicate the Chevalier's discernment, will suppose that I amthe 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 MadameCheron.

  'Alas! I cannot assist you,' replied Cavigni, with a deliberatingair. 'Your only chance of refuting the calumny, and of making peopleunderstand what you wish them to believe, is to persist in yourfirst assertion; for, when they are told of the Chevalier's want ofdiscernment, it is possible they may suppose he never presumed todistress you with his admiration.--But then again--that diffidence,which renders you so insensible to your own perfections--they willconsider this, and Valancourt's taste will not be doubted, though youarraign it. In short, they will, in spite of your endeavours, continueto believe, what might very naturally have occurred to them without anyhint of mine--that the Chevalier has taste enough to admire a beautifulwoman.'

  'All this is very distressing!' said Madame Cheron, with a profoundsigh.

  'May I be allowed to ask what is so distressing?' said Madame Clairval,who was struck with the rueful countenance and doleful accent, withwhich this was delivered.

  'It is a delicate subject,' replied Madame Cheron, 'a very mortifyingone to me.' 'I am concerned to hear it,' said Madame Clairval, 'I hopenothing has occurred, this evening, particularly to distress you?''Alas, yes! within this half hour; and I know not where the report mayend;--my pride was never so shocked before, but I assure you the reportis totally void of foundation.' 'Good God!' exclaimed Madame Clairval,'what can be done? Can you point out any way, by which I can assist, orconsole you?'

  'The only way, by which you can do either,' replied Madame Cheron, 'isto 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 thatyoung man seated near the bottom of the table, who is conversing withMademoiselle D'Emery?' 'Yes, I perceive whom you mean.' 'You observe howlittle 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 himat this table.' 'Well! but the report,' said Madame Clairval, 'letme understand the subject of your distress.' 'Ah! the subject of mydistress,' replied Madame Cheron; 'this person, whom nobody knows--(Ibeg pardon, madam, I did not consider what I said)--this impertinentyoung man, having had the presumption to address my niece, has, I fear,given rise to a report, that he had declared himself my admirer. Nowonly consider how very mortifying such a report must be! You, Iknow, will feel for my situation. A woman of my condition!--think howdegrading even the rumour of such an alliance must be.'

  'Degrading indeed, my poor friend!' said Madame Clairval. 'You may relyupon 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 fearinghe should be unable to smothe
r the laugh, that convulsed him, walkedabruptly 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'snephew!' 'Impossible!' exclaimed Madame Cheron, who now began toperceive, that she had been totally mistaken in her judgment ofValancourt, and to praise him aloud with as much servility, as she hadbefore censured him with frivolous malignity.

  Emily, who, during the greater part of this conversation, had been soabsorbed in thought as to be spared the pain of hearing it, was nowextremely surprised by her aunt's praise of Valancourt, with whoserelationship to Madame Clairval she was unacquainted; but she wasnot sorry when Madame Cheron, who, though she now tried to appearunconcerned, was really much embarrassed, prepared to withdrawimmediately after supper. Montoni then came to hand Madame Cheron to hercarriage, and Cavigni, with an arch solemnity of countenance, followedwith Emily, who, as she wished them good night, and drew up the glass,saw Valancourt among the crowd at the gates. Before the carriage droveoff, he disappeared. Madame Cheron forbore to mention him to Emily, and,as soon as they reached the chateau, they separated for the night.

  On the following morning, as Emily sat at breakfast with her aunt, aletter was brought to her, of which she knew the handwriting upon thecover; and, as she received it with a trembling hand, Madame Cheronhastily enquired from whom it came. Emily, with her leave, broke theseal, and, observing the signature of Valancourt, gave it unread to heraunt, who received it with impatience; and, as she looked it over, Emilyendeavoured to read on her countenance its contents. Having returnedthe 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 shehad expected, and Emily had, perhaps, never before so willingly obeyedher aunt. In this letter Valancourt said little of the interview of thepreceding day, but concluded with declaring, that he would accept hisdismission from Emily only, and with entreating, that she would allowhim to wait upon her, on the approaching evening. When she read this,she was astonished at the moderation of Madame Cheron, and looked ather 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 hearwhat he has further to say for himself. You may tell him he may come.'Emily dared scarcely credit what she heard. 'Yet, stay,' added MadameCheron, 'I will tell him so myself.' She called for pen and ink; Emilystill not daring to trust the emotions she felt, and almost sinkingbeneath them. Her surprise would have been less had she overheard,on the preceding evening, what Madame Cheron had not forgotten--thatValancourt was the nephew of Madame Clairval.

  What were the particulars of her aunt's note Emily did not learn, butthe result was a visit from Valancourt in the evening, whom MadameCheron received alone, and they had a long conversation before Emilywas called down. When she entered the room, her aunt was conversing withcomplacency, and she saw the eyes of Valancourt, as he impatiently rose,animated with hope.

  'We have been talking over this affair,' said Madame Cheron, 'thechevalier has been telling me, that the late Monsieur Clairval was thebrother of the Countess de Duvarney, his mother. I only wish he hadmentioned his relationship to Madame Clairval before; I certainly shouldhave considered that circumstance as a sufficient introduction to myhouse.' Valancourt bowed, and was going to address Emily, but her auntprevented him. 'I have, therefore, consented that you shall receive hisvisits; and, though I will not bind myself by any promise, or say, thatI shall consider him as my nephew, yet I shall permit the intercourse,and shall look forward to any further connection as an event, which maypossibly take place in a course of years, provided the chevalier risesin his profession, or any circumstance occurs, which may make it prudentfor him to take a wife. But Mons. Valancourt will observe, and you too,Emily, that, till that happens, I positively forbid any thoughts ofmarrying.'

  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 hewas thus distressed; but, when Madame Cheron was silent, he said,'Flattering, madam, as your approbation is to me--highly as I amhonoured by it--I have yet so much to fear, that I scarcely dare tohope.' 'Pray, sir, explain yourself,' said Madame Cheron; an unexpectedrequisition, which embarrassed Valancourt again, and almost overcame himwith confusion, at circumstances, on which, had he been only a spectatorof the scene, he would have smiled.

  'Till I receive Mademoiselle St. Aubert's permission to accept yourindulgence,' said he, falteringly--'till she allows me to hope--'

  'O! is that all?' interrupted Madame Cheron. 'Well, I will take upon meto answer for her. But at the same time, sir, give me leave to observeto 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 andValancourt in a state of mutual embarrassment; and, when Valancourt'shopes enabled him to overcome his fears, and to address her with thezeal and sincerity so natural to him, it was a considerable timebefore she was sufficiently recovered to hear with distinctness hissolicitations and inquiries.

  The conduct of Madame Cheron in this affair had been entirely governedby selfish vanity. Valancourt, in his first interview, had with greatcandour laid open to her the true state of his present circumstances,and his future expectancies, and she, with more prudence than humanity,had absolutely and abruptly rejected his suit. She wished her niece tomarry ambitiously, not because she desired to see her in possession ofthe happiness, which rank and wealth are usually believed to bestow, butbecause she desired to partake the importance, which such an alliancewould give. When, therefore, she discovered that Valancourt was thenephew of a person of so much consequence as Madame Clairval, she becameanxious for the connection, since the prospect it afforded of futurefortune and distinction for Emily, promised the exaltation she covetedfor herself. Her calculations concerning fortune in this alliance wereguided rather by her wishes, than by any hint of Valancourt, or strongappearance of probability; and, when she rested her expectation on thewealth of Madame Clairval, she seemed totally to have forgotten, thatthe latter had a daughter. Valancourt, however, had not forgotten thiscircumstance, and the consideration of it had made him so modest inhis expectations from Madame Clairval, that he had not even named therelationship in his first conversation with Madame Cheron. But, whatevermight be the future fortune of Emily, the present distinction, which theconnection would afford for herself, was certain, since the splendour ofMadame Clairval's establishment was such as to excite the general envyand partial imitation of the neighbourhood. Thus had she consented toinvolve her niece in an engagement, to which she saw only a distant anduncertain conclusion, with as little consideration of her happiness,as when she had so precipitately forbade it: for though she herselfpossessed the means of rendering this union not only certain, butprudent, yet to do so was no part of her present intention.

  From this period Valancourt made frequent visits to Madame Cheron, andEmily passed in his society the happiest hours she had known since thedeath of her father. They were both too much engaged by the presentmoments to give serious consideration to the future. They loved and werebeloved, and saw not, that the very attachment, which formed the delightof their present days, might possibly occasion the sufferings of years.Meanwhile, Madame Cheron's intercourse with Madame Clairval becamemore frequent than before, and her vanity was already gratified bythe opportunity of proclaiming, wherever she went, the attachment thatsubsisted between their nephew and niece.

  Montoni was now also become a daily guest at the chateau, and Emilywas compelled to observe, that he really was a suitor, and a favouredsuitor, to her aunt.

  Thus passed the winter months, not only in peace, but in happiness,to Valancourt and Emily; the station of his regiment being so nearTholouse, as to allow this frequent intercourse. The pavilion on theterrace
was the favourite scene of their interviews, and there Emily,with Madame Cheron, would work, while Valancourt read aloud works ofgenius and taste, listened to her enthusiasm, expressed his own, andcaught new opportunities of observing, that their minds were formed toconstitute the happiness of each other, the same taste, the same nobleand benevolent sentiments animating each.