‘O! that is the Chevalier Valancourt,’ said Cavigni carelessly, and looking back. ‘You know him then?’ said Madame Cheron. ‘I am not acquainted with him,’ replied Cavigni. ‘You don’t know, then, the reason I have to call him impertinent; — he has had the presumption to admire my niece!’
‘If every man deserves the title of impertinent, who admires ma’amselle St. Aubert,’ replied Cavigni, ‘I fear there are a great many impertinents, and I am willing to acknowledge myself one of the number.’
‘O Signor!’ said Madame Cheron, with an affected smile, ‘I perceive you have learnt the art of complimenting, since you came into France. But it is cruel to compliment children, since they mistake flattery for truth.’
Cavigni turned away his face for a moment, and then said with a studied air, ‘Whom then are we to compliment, madam? for it would be absurd to compliment 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 knew but one woman who deserved it.’
‘Well!’ exclaimed Madame Cheron, with a short laugh, and a smile of unutterable complacency, ‘and who could she be?’
‘O!’ replied Cavigni, ‘it is impossible to mistake her, for certainly there is not more than one woman in the world, who has both the merit to deserve compliment and the wit to refuse it. Most women reverse the case entirely.’ He looked again at Emily, who blushed deeper than before for her aunt, and turned from him with displeasure.
‘Well, signor!’ said Madame Cheron, ‘I protest you are a Frenchman; I never heard a foreigner say any thing half so gallant as that!’
‘True, madam,’ said the Count, who had been some time silent, and with a low bow, ‘but the gallantry of the compliment had been utterly lost, but for the ingenuity that discovered the application.’
Madame Cheron did not perceive the meaning of this too satirical sentence, and she, therefore, escaped the pain, which Emily felt on her account. ‘O! here comes Signor Montoni himself,’ said her aunt, ‘I protest 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, who is it, that has so much engaged your friend this evening?’ asked Madame Cheron, 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 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 chateau, 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, who 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 spoke, 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 chateau, 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. Valancourt, meanwhile, scarcely less embarrassed, did not dare to look at her, for whom he was thus distressed; but, when Madame Cheron was silent, he said, ‘Flattering, madam, as your approbation is to me — highly as I am honoured by it — I have yet so much to fear, that I scarcely dare to hope.’ ‘Pray, sir, explain yourself,’ said Madame Cheron; an unexpected requisition, which embarrassed Valancourt again, and
almost overcame him with confusion, at circumstances, on which, had he been only a spectator of the scene, he would have smiled.
‘Till I receive Mademoiselle St. Aubert’s permission to accept your indulgence,’ said he, falteringly— ‘till she allows me to hope— ‘
‘O! is that all?’ interrupted Madame Cheron. ‘Well, I will take upon me to answer for her. But at the same time, sir, give me leave to observe to 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 and Valancourt in a state of mutual embarrassment; and, when Valancourt’s hopes enabled him to overcome his fears, and to address her with the zeal and sincerity so natural to him, it was a considerable time before she was sufficiently recovered to hear with distinctness his solicitations and inquiries.
The conduct of Madame Cheron in this affair had been entirely governed by selfish vanity. Valancourt, in his first interview, had with great candour 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 to marry ambitiously, not because she desired to see her in possession of the happiness, which rank and wealth are usually believed to bestow, but because she desired to partake the importance, which such an alliance would give. When, therefore, she discovered that Valancourt was the nephew of a person of so much consequence as Madame Clairval, she became anxious for the connection, since the prospect it afforded of future fortune and distinction for Emily, promised the exaltation she coveted for herself. Her calculations concerning fortune in this alliance were guided rather by her wishes, than by any hint of Valancourt, or strong appearance of probability; and, when she rested her expectation on the wealth of Madame Clairval, she seemed totally to have forgotten, that the latter had a daughter. Valancourt, however, had not forgotten this circumstance, and the consideration of it had made him so modest in his expectations from Madame Clairval, that he had not even named the relationship in his first conversation with Madame Cheron. But, whatever might be the future fortune of Emily, the present distinction, which the connection would afford for herself, was certain, since the splendour of Madame Clairval’s establishment was such as to excite the general envy and partial imitation of the neighbourhood. Thus had she consented to involve her niece in an engagement, to which she saw only a distant and uncertain conclusion, with as little consideration of her happiness, as when she had so precipitately forbade it: for though she herself possessed the means of rendering this union not only certain, but prudent, yet to do so was no part of her present intention.
Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) Page 93
