Mad. de Coulanges could no longer consider her humour as merely _bizarre_, she found it _insupportable_; and Mrs. Somers appeared to her totally changed, and absolutely odious, now that she was roused by her own sufferings to the perception of those evils which Emilie had long borne with all the firmness of principle, and all the philosophy of grat.i.tude. Not a day pa.s.sed without her complaining to Emilie of some _grossierete_ from Mrs. Somers. Mad. de Coulanges suffered so much from irritation and anxiety, that her _vapeurs noirs_ returned with tenfold violence. Emilie had loved Mrs. Somers, even when most unreasonable towards herself, as long as she behaved with kindness to her mother; but now that, instead of a source of pleasure, she became the hourly cause of pain to Mad. de Coulanges, Emilie's affection could no farther go; and she really began to dislike this lady--to dread to see her come into the room--and to tremble at hearing her voice. Emilie could judge only by what she saw; and she could not divine that Mrs. Somers was occupied, all this time, with the generous scheme of marrying her to her son and heir, and of settling upon her a large fortune; nor could she guess, that all the ill-humour in Mrs.

Somers originated in the fear that her friends should be made either rich or happy without her a.s.sistance. Her son's delaying to return home, according to her mandate, had disappointed and vexed her extremely. Every day, when the post came in, she inquired for letters with almost as much eagerness as Mad. de Coulanges. At length a letter came from Mr. Somers, to inform his impatient mother that he should certainly be in town the beginning of the ensuing week. Delighted by this news, she could not refrain from the temptation of opening her whole mind to Emilie; though she had previously resolved not to give the slightest intimation of her scheme to any one, not even to Lady Littleton, till a definitive answer had been received from Paris, respecting the fortune of Mad. de Coulanges. Often, when Mrs.

Somers was full of some magnanimous design, the merest trifle that interrupted the full display of her generosity threw her into a pa.s.sion, even with those whom she was going to serve. So it happened in the present instance. She went, with her open letter in her hand, to the countess's apartment, where unluckily she found M. de Brisac, who was going to read the French newspapers to madame. Mrs. Somers sat down beside Emilie, who was painting the last flower of her watch of Flora. Mrs. Somers wrote on a slip of paper, "Don't ask M. de Brisac to read the papers, for I want to speak to you." She threw down the note before Emilie, who was so intent upon what she was about, that she did not immediately see it--Mrs. Somers touched her elbow--Emilie started, and let fall her brush, which made a blot upon her dial-plate.

"Oh! what a pity!--Just as I had finished my work," cried Emilie, "I have spoiled it!"

M. de Brisac laid down the newspaper to pour forth compliments of condolence.--Mrs. Somers tore the piece of paper as he approached the table, and said, with some asperity, "One would think this was a matter of life and death, by the terms in which it is deplored."

M. de Brisac, who stood so that Mrs. Somers could not see him, shrugged his shoulders, and looked at Mad. de Coulanges, who answered him by another look, that plainly said, "This is English politeness!"

Emilie, who saw that her mother was displeased, endeavoured to change the course of her thoughts, by begging M. de Brisac to go on with what he was reading from the French papers. This was a fresh provocation to Mrs. Somers, who forgot that Emilie had not read the words on the slip of paper which had been torn; and consequently could not know all Mrs.

Somers' impatience for his departure. M. de Brisac read, in what this lady called his _unemphatic French tone_, paragraph after paragraph, and column after column, whilst her anxiety to have him go every moment increased. She moulded her son's letter into all manner of shapes as she sat in penance. To complete her misfortunes, something in the paper put Mad. de Coulanges in mind of former times; and she began a long history of the destruction of some fine old tapestry hangings in the Chateau de Coulanges, at the beginning of the Revolution: this led to endless melancholy reflections; and at length tears began to flow from the fine eyes of the countess.

Just at this instant a b.u.t.terfly flew into the room, and pa.s.sed by Mad. de Coulanges, who was sitting near the open window. "Oh! the beautiful b.u.t.terfly!" cried she, starting up to catch it. "Did you ever see such a charming creature? Catch it, M. de Brisac!--Catch it, Emilie!--Catch it, Mrs. Somers!"

With the tears yet upon her cheeks, Mad. de Coulanges began the chase, and M. de Brisac followed, beating the air with his perfumed handkerchief, and the b.u.t.terfly fluttered round the table at which Emilie was standing.

"Eh! M. de Brisac, catch it!--Catch it, Emilie!" repeated her mother.--"Catch it, Mrs. Somers, for the love of Heaven!"

"_For the love of Heaven_!" repeated Mrs. Somers, who, immovably grave, and sullenly indignant, kept aloof during this chase.

"Ah! pour le coup, papillon, je te tiens!" cried la comtesse, and with eager joy she covered it with a gla.s.s, as it lighted on the table.

"Mlle. de Coulanges," cried Mrs. Somers, "I acknowledge, now, that I was wrong in my criticism of Caroline de Lichteld. I blamed the author for representing Caroline, at fifteen, or just when she is going to be married, as running after b.u.t.terflies. I said that, at that age, it was too frivolous--out of drawing--out of nature. But I should have said only, that it was out of _English nature_.--I stand corrected."

Mad. de Coulanges and M. de Brisac again interchanged looks, which expressed "_Est-il possible_!" And la comtesse then, with an unusual degree of deliberation and dignity in her manner, walked out of the room. Emilie, who saw that her mother was extremely offended, was much embarra.s.sed--she went on washing the blot out of her drawing. M. de Brisac stood silently looking over her, and Mrs. Somers opposite to him, wishing him fairly at the antipodes. M. de Brisac, to break the silence, which seemed to him as if it never would be broken, asked Mlle. de Coulanges if she had ever seen the stadtholder's fine collection of b.u.t.terflies, and if she did not admire them extremely?

No, she never had; but she said that she admired extremely the generosity the stadtholder had shown in sacrificing, not only his fine collection of b.u.t.terflies, but his most valuable pictures, to save the lives of the poor French emigrants, who were under his protection.

At the sound of the word generosity, Mrs. Somers became attentive; and Emilie was in hopes that she would recover her temper, and apologize to her mother: but at this moment a servant came to tell Mlle. de Coulanges that la comtesse wished to speak to her immediately. She found her mother in no humour to receive any apology, even if it had been offered: nothing could have hurt Mad. de Coulanges more than the imputation of being frivolous.

"Frivole!--frivole!--moi frivole!" she repeated, as soon as Emilie entered the room. "My dear Emilie! I would not live with this Mrs. Somers for the rest of my days, were she to offer me the Pitt diamond, or the whole mines of Golconda!--Bon Dieu!--neither money nor diamonds, after all, can pay for the want of kindness and politeness!--There is Lady Littleton, who has never done us any favour, but that of showing us attention and sympathy; I protest I love her a million of times better than I can love Mrs. Somers, to whom we owe so much. It is in vain, Emilie, to remind me that she is our benefactress. I have said that over and over to myself, till I am tired, and till I have absolutely lost all sense of the meaning of the word. Bitterly do I repent having accepted of such obligations from this strange woman; for, as to the idea of regaining our estate, and paying my debt to her, I have given up all hopes of it. You see that we have no letters from France. I am quite tired out. I am convinced that we shall never have any good news from Paris. And I cannot, I will not, remain longer in this house. Would you have me submit to be treated with disrespect? Mrs. Somers has affronted me before M. de Brisac, in a manner that I cannot, that I ought not, to endure--that you, Emilie, ought not to wish me to endure. I positively will not live upon the bounty of Mrs. Somers. There is but one way of extricating ourselves. M. de Brisac--Why do you turn pale, child?--M.

de Brisac has this morning made me a proposal for you, and the best thing we can possibly do is to accept of it."

"The best!--Pray don't say the best!" cried Emilie. "Ah! dear mamma, for me the worst! Let me beseech you not to sacrifice my happiness for ever by such a marriage!"

"And what other can you expect, Emilie, in your present circ.u.mstances?"

"None," said Emilie.

"And here is an establishment--at least an independence for you--and you call it sacrificing your happiness for ever to accept of it!"

"Yes," said Emilie; "because it is offered to me by one whom I can neither love nor esteem. Dearest mamma! can you forget all his former meanness of conduct?"

"His present behaviour makes amends for the past," said Mad. de Coulanges, "and ent.i.tles him to my esteem and to yours, and that is sufficient. As to love--well educated girls do not marry for love."

"But they ought not to marry without feeling love, should they?" said Emilie.

"Emilie! Emilie!" said her mother, "these are strange ideas that have come into the heads of young women since the Revolution. If you had remained safe in your convent, I should have heard none of this nonsense."

"Perhaps not, mamma," said Emilie, with a deep sigh. "But should I have been happier?"

"A fine question, truly!--How can I tell? But this I can ask you--How can any girl expect to be happy, who abandons the principles in which she was bred up, and forgets her duty to the mother by whom she has been educated--the mother, whose pride, whose delight, whose darling, she has ever been? Oh, Emilie! this is to me worse than all I have ever suffered!"

Mad. de Coulanges burst into a pa.s.sion of tears, and Emilie stood looking at her in silent despair.

"Emilie, you cannot deceive me," cried her mother; "you cannot pretend that it is simply your want of esteem for M. de Brisac which renders you thus obstinately averse to the match. You are in love with another person."

"Not in love," said Emilie, in a faltering voice.

"You cannot deceive me, Emilie--remember all you said to me about the stranger who was our fellow prisoner at the Abbaye. You cannot deny this, Emilie."

"Nor do I, dear mamma," said Emilie. "I _cannot_ deceive you, indeed I _would_ not; and the best proof that I do not wish to deceive you--that I never attempted it--is, that I told you all I thought and felt about that stranger. I told you that his honourable, brave, and generous conduct towards us, when we were in distress, made an impression upon my heart--that I preferred him to any person I had ever seen--and I told you, my dear mamma, that--"

"You told me too much," interrupted Mad. de Coulanges; "more than I wished to hear--more than I will have repeated, Emilie. This is romance and nonsense. The man, whoever he was--and Heaven knows who he was!--behaved very well, and was a very agreeable person: but what then? are you ever likely to see him again? Do you even know his birth--his name--his country--or any thing about him, but that he was brave and generous?--So are fifty other men, five hundred, five thousand, five million, I hope. But is this any reason that you should refuse to marry M. de Brisac? Henry the Fourth was brave and generous two hundred years ago. That is as much to the purpose. You have as much chance of establishing yourself, if you wait for Henry the Fourth to come to life again, as if you wait for this nameless n.o.body of a hero--who is perhaps married, after all--who knows!--Really, Emilie, this is too absurd!"

"But, dear mamma, I cannot marry one man and love another--love I did not quite mean to say. But whilst I prefer another, I cannot, in honour, marry M. de Brisac."

"Honour!--Love!--But in France, in my time, who ever heard of a young lady's being in love before she was married? You astonish, you frighten, you shock me, child! Recollect yourself, Emilie! Misfortune may have deprived you of the vast possessions to which you are heiress; but do not, therefore, degrade yourself and me by forgetting your principles, and all that the representative of the house of Coulanges ought to remember. And as for myself--have I no claim upon your affections, Emilie?--have not I been a fond mother?"

"Oh, yes!" said Emilie, melting into tears. "Of your kindness I think more than of any thing else!--more than of the whole house of Coulanges!"

"Do not let me see you in tears, child!" said Mad. de Coulanges, moved by Emilie's grief. "Your tears hurt my nerves more even than Mrs.

Somers' _grossierete_. You must blame Mrs. Somers, not me, for all this--her temper drives me to it--I cannot live with her. We have no alternative. Emilie, my sweet child! make me happy!--I am miserable in this house. Hitherto you have ever been the best of daughters, and you shall find me the most indulgent of mothers. One whole month I will give you to change your mind, and recollect your duty. At the end of that time, I must see you Mad. de Brisac, and in a house of your own.--In the house of Mrs. Somers I will not, I cannot longer remain."

Poor Emilie was glad of the reprieve of one month. She retired from her mother's presence in silent anguish, and hastened to her own apartment, that she might give way to her grief. There she found Mrs.

Somers waiting for her, seated in an arm-chair, with an open letter in her hand.

"Why do you start, Emilie? You look as if you were sorry to find me here," cried Mrs. Somers--"IF THAT be the case, Mlle. de Coulanges--"

"Oh, Mrs. Somers! do not begin to quarrel with me at this moment, for I shall not be able to bear it--I am sufficiently unhappy already!"

said Emilie.

"I am extremely sorry that any thing should make you unhappy, Emilie,"

said Mrs. Somers; "but I think that you had never less reason than at this moment to suspect me of an intention of quarrelling with you--I came here with a very different design. May I know the cause of your distress?"

Emilie hesitated, for she did not know how to explain the cause without imputing blame either to Mrs. Somers or to her mother--she could only say--"_M. de Brisac_--"

"What!" cried Mrs. Somers, "your mother wants you to marry him?"

"Yes."

"Immediately?"

"In one month."

"And you have consented?"

"No--But--"