She experienced an inexpressible pleasure in believing, that
she beheld the country around it, though no feature could be
distinguished, except the retiring chain of the Pyrenees; and,
inattentive to the scene immediately before her, and to the flight of
time, she continued to lean on the window of a pavilion, that
terminated the terrace, with her eyes fixed on Gascony, and her mind
occupied with the interesting ideas which the view of it awakened, till
a servant came to tell her breakfast was ready. Her thoughts thus
recalled to the surrounding objects, the straight walks, square
parterres, and artificial fountains of the garden, could not fail, as
she passed through it, to appear the worse, opposed to the negligent
graces, and natural beauties of the grounds of La Vallée, upon which
her recollection had been so intensely employed. “Whither have you been rambling so early?” said Madame Cheron, as her
niece entered the breakfast-room. “I don’t approve of these solitary
walks.” And Emily was surprised, when, having informed her aunt, that
she had been no further than the gardens, she understood these to be
included in the reproof. “I desire you will not walk there again at so
early an hour unattended,” said Madame Cheron; “my gardens are very
extensive; and a young woman, who can make assignations by moonlight at
La Vallée, is not to be trusted to her own inclinations elsewhere.”

Emily, extremely surprised and shocked, had scarcely power to beg an
explanation of these words, and, when she did, her aunt absolutely
refused to give it, though, by her severe looks, and half sentences,
she appeared anxious to impress Emily with a belief, that she was well
informed of some degrading circumstances of her conduct. Conscious
innocence 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
sometimes stains the countenance of a person, congratulating himself on
the penetration which had taught him to suspect another, and who loses
both pity for the supposed criminal, and indignation of his guilt, in
the gratification of his own vanity. Emily, not doubting that her aunt’s mistake arose from the having
observed her ramble in the garden on the night preceding her departure
from La Vallée, now mentioned the motive of it, at which Madame Cheron
smiled contemptuously, refusing either to accept this explanation, or
to give her reasons for refusing it; and, soon after, she concluded the
subject by saying, “I never trust people’s assertions, I always judge
of them by their actions; but I am willing to try what will be your
behaviour 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 night
in the gardens of La Vallée, and that he had been observed there by
Madame Cheron; who now passing from one painful topic only to revive
another almost equally so, spoke of the situation of her niece’s
property, in the hands of M. Motteville. While she thus talked with
ostentatious pity of Emily’s misfortunes, she failed not to inculcate
the duties of humility and gratitude, or to render Emily fully sensible
of every cruel mortification, who soon perceived, that she was to be
considered as a dependant, not only by her aunt, but by her aunt’s
servants. She was now informed, that a large party were expected to dinner, on
which account Madame Cheron repeated the lesson of the preceding night,
concerning her conduct in company, and Emily wished that she might have
courage enough to practise it. Her aunt then proceeded to examine the
simplicity of her dress, adding, that she expected to see her attired
with gaiety and taste; after which she condescended to show Emily the
splendour of her château, and to point out the particular beauty, or
elegance, which she thought distinguished each of her numerous suites
of apartments. 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 her mind by reading, till the hour of dressing. When the company arrived, Emily entered the saloon with an air of
timidity, which all her efforts could not overcome, and which was
increased by the consciousness of Madame Cheron’s severe observation. Her mourning dress, the mild dejection of her beautiful countenance,
and the retiring diffidence of her manner, rendered her a very
interesting object to many of the company; among whom she distinguished
Signor Montoni, and his friend Cavigni, the late visitors at M.
Quesnel’s, who now seemed to converse with Madame Cheron with the
familiarity of old acquaintance, and she to attend to them with
particular pleasure. This Signor Montoni had an air of conscious superiority, animated by
spirit, and strengthened by talents, to which every person seemed
involuntarily to yield. The quickness of his perceptions was strikingly
expressed on his countenance, yet that countenance could submit
implicitly to occasion; and, more than once in this day, the triumph of
art 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, that
triumphed for him. Emily felt admiration, but not the admiration that
leads to esteem; for it was mixed with a degree of fear she knew not
exactly wherefore. Cavigni was gay and insinuating as formerly; and, though he paid almost
incessant attention to Madame Cheron, he found some opportunities of
conversing with Emily, to whom he directed, at first, the sallies of
his wit, but now and then assumed an air of tenderness, which she
observed, and shrunk from. Though she replied but little, the
gentleness and sweetness of her manners encouraged him to talk, and she
felt relieved when a young lady of the party, who spoke incessantly,
obtruded herself on his notice. This lady, who possessed all the
sprightliness of a Frenchwoman, with all her coquetry, affected to
understand every subject, or rather there was no affectation in the
case; for, never looking beyond the limits of her own ignorance, she
believed she had nothing to learn. She attracted notice from all;
amused some, disgusted others for a moment, and was then forgotten. This day passed without any material occurrence; and Emily, though
amused by the characters she had seen, was glad when she could retire
to the recollections, which had acquired with her the character of
duties. A fortnight passed in a round of dissipation and company, and Emily,
who attended Madame Cheron in all her visits, was sometimes
entertained, but oftener wearied.