“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.