Tales and Novels Volume VI Part 56

"_But_--Good Heavens! Emilie, what weakness of mind there is in that _but_--"

"Is it weakness of mind to fear to disobey my mother--to dread to offend her for ever--to render her unhappy--and to deprive her, perhaps, even of the means of subsistence?"

"_The means of subsistence_! my dear. This phrase, you know, can only be a figure of rhetoric," said Mrs. Somers. "Your refusing M. de Brisac cannot deprive your mother of the means of subsistence. In the first place, she expects to recover her property in France."

"No," said Emilie; "she has given up these hopes--you have persuaded her that they are vain."

"Indeed I think them so. But still you must know, my dear, that your mother can never be in want of the means of subsistence, nor any of the conveniences, and, I may add, luxuries of life, whilst I am alive."

Emilie sighed; and when Mrs. Somers urged her more closely, she said, "Mamma has not, till lately, been accustomed to live on the bounty of others; the sense of dependence produces many painful feelings, and renders people more susceptible than perhaps they would be, were they on terms of equality."

"To what does all this tend, my dear?" interrupted Mrs. Somers. "Is Mad. de Coulanges offended with me?--Is she tired of living with me?--Does she wish to quit my house?--And where does she intend to go?--Oh! that is a question that I need not ask!--Yes, yes--I have long foreseen it--you have arranged it admirably--you go to Lady Littleton, I presume?"

"Oh, no!"

"To M. de Brisac?"

"Mamma wishes to go--"

"Then to M. de Brisac, for Heaven's sake, let her go," cried Mrs.

Somers, bursting into a fit of laughter, which astonished Emilie beyond measure. "To M. de Brisac let her go--'tis the best thing she can possibly do, my dear; and seriously to tell you the truth, I have always thought it would be an excellent match. Since she is so much prepossessed in his favour, can she do better than marry him? and, as he is so much attached to the house of Coulanges, when he cannot have the daughter, can he do better than marry the mother?--Your mother does not look too old for him, when she is well rouged; and I am sure, if she heard me say so, she would forgive me all the rest--b.u.t.terfly, frivolity, and all inclusive. Permit me, Emilie, to laugh."

"I cannot permit any body to laugh at mamma," said Emilie; "and Mrs.

Somers is the last person whom I should have supposed would have been inclined to laugh, when I told her that I was really unhappy."

"My dear Emilie, I forgive you for being angry, because I never saw you angry before; and that is more than you can say for me. You do me justice, however, by supposing that I should be the last person to laugh when you are in woe, unless I thought--unless I was sure--that I could remove the cause, and make you completely happy."

"That, I fear, is impossible," said Emilie: "for mamma's pride and her feelings have been so much hurt, that I do not think any apology would now calm her mind."

"Apology!--I am not in the least inclined to make any. Can I tell Mad.

de Coulanges that I do not think her frivolous?--Impossible, indeed, my dear! I will do any thing else to oblige you. But I have as much pride, and as much feeling, in my own way, as any of the house of Coulanges: and if, after all I have done, madame can quarrel with me about a b.u.t.terfly, I must say, not only that she is the most frivolous, but the most ungrateful woman upon earth; and, as she desires to quit my house, far from attempting to detain her, I can only wish that she may accomplish her purpose as soon as possible--as soon as it may suit her own convenience. As for you, Emilie, I do not suspect you of the ingrat.i.tude of wishing to leave me--I can make distinctions, even when I have most reason to be angry. I do not blame you, my dear--I do not ever ask you to blame your mother. I respect your filial piety--I am sure you must think her to blame, but I do not desire you to say so. Could any thing be more barbarously selfish than the plan of marrying _you_ to this M. de Brisac, that _she_ might have an establishment more to her taste than my house has been able to afford?"

Emilie attempted, but in vain, to say a few words for her mother. Mrs.

Somers ran on with her own thoughts.

"And at what a time, at what a cruel time for me, did Mad. de Coulanges choose to express her desire to leave my house--at the moment when my whole soul was intent upon a scheme for the happiness of her daughter! Yes, Emilie, for your happiness!--and, my dear, your mother's conduct shall change nothing in my views. You I have always found uniformly kind, gentle, grateful--I will say no more--I have found in you, Emilie, real magnanimity. I have tried your temper much--sometimes too much--but I have always found you proof against these petty trials. Your character is suited to mine. I love you, as if you were my daughter, and I wish you to be my daughter.--Now you know my whole mind, Emilie. My son--my _eldest_ son, I should with emphasis say, if I were speaking to Mad. de Coulanges--will be here in a few days: read this letter. How happy I shall be if you find him--or if you will make him--such as you can entirely approve and love! You will have power over him--your influence will do what his mother's never could accomplish. But whatever reasons I may have to complain of him, this is not the time to state them--you will connect him with me.

At all events, he is a man of honour and a gentleman; and as he is not, thank Heaven! under the debasing necessity of considering fortune in the choice of a wife, he is, at least in this respect, worthy of my dear and high-minded Emilie."

Mrs. Somers paused, and fixed her eyes eagerly on Emilie, impatient for her answer, and already half provoked by not seeing the sudden transition of countenance which she had pictured in her imagination.

With a mixture of dignity and affectionate grat.i.tude in her manner, Emilie was beginning to thank Mrs. Somers for the generous kindness of her intention; but this susceptible lady interrupted her, and exclaimed, "Spare me your thanks, Mlle. de Coulanges, and tell me at once what is pa.s.sing in your mind; for something very extraordinary is certainly pa.s.sing there, which I cannot comprehend. Surely you cannot for a moment imagine that your mother will insist upon your now accepting of M. de Brisac; or, if she does, surely you would not have the weakness to yield. I must have some proof of strength of mind from my friends. You must judge for yourself, Emilie, or you are not the person I take you for. You will have full opportunity of judging in a few days. Will you promise me that you will decide entirely for yourself, and that you will keep your mind unbia.s.sed? Will you promise me this? And will you speak, at all events, my dear, that I may understand you?"

Emilie, who saw that even before she spoke Mrs. Somers was on the brink of anger, trembled at the idea of confessing the truth--that her heart was already bia.s.sed in favour of another: she had, however, the courage to explain to her all that pa.s.sed in her mind. Mrs. Somers heard her with inexpressible disappointment. She was silent for some minutes. At last she said, in a voice of constrained pa.s.sion, "Mlle.

de Coulanges, I have only one question to ask of you--you will reflect before you answer it, because on your reply depends the continuance or utter dissolution of our friendship--do you, or do you not, think proper to refuse my son before you have seen him?"

"Before I have seen Mr. Somers, it surely can be no affront to you or to him," said Emilie, "to decline an offer that I cannot accept, especially when I give as my reason, that my mind is prepossessed in favour of another. With that prepossession, I cannot unite myself to your son: I can only express to you my grat.i.tude--my most sincere grat.i.tude--for your kind and generous intentions, and my hopes that he will find, amongst his own countrywomen, one more suited to him than I can be. His fortune is far above--"

"Say no more, I beg, Mlle. de Coulanges--I asked only for a simple answer to a plain question. You refuse my son--you refuse to be my daughter. I am satisfied--perfectly satisfied. I suppose you have arranged to go to Lady Littleton's. I heartily hope that she may be able to make her house more agreeable to you than I could render mine.

Shake hands, Mlle. de Coulanges. You have my best wishes for your health and happiness--Here we part."

"Oh! do not let us part in anger!" said Emilie.

"In anger!--not in the least--I never was cooler in my life. You have completely cooled me--you have shown me the folly of that warmth of friendship which can meet with no return."

"Would it be a suitable return for your warm friendship to deceive your son?" said Emilie.

"To deceive me, I think still less suitable!" cried Mrs. Somers.

"And how have I deceived you?"

"You know best. Why was I kept in ignorance till the last moment? Why did you never confide your thoughts to me, Emilie? Why did you never till now say one word to me of this strange attachment?"

"There was no necessity for speaking till now," said Emilie. "It is a subject I never named to any one except to mamma--a subject on which I did not think it right to speak to any one but to a parent."

"Your notions of right and wrong, ma'am, differ widely from mine--we are not fit to live together. I have no idea of a friend's concealing any thing from me: without entire confidence, there is no friendship--at least no friendship with me. Pray no tears. I am not fond of _scenes_. n.o.body ever is that feels much.--Adieu!--Adieu!"

Mrs. Somers hurried out of the room, repeating, "I'll write directly--this instant--to Lady Littleton. Mad. de Coulanges shall not be kept prisoner in _my_ house." Emilie stood motionless.

In a few minutes Mrs. Somers returned with an unfolded letter, which she put into Emilie's pa.s.sive hand. "Read it, ma'am, I beg--read it. I do every thing openly--every thing handsomely, I hope--whatever may be my faults."

The letter was written with a rapid hand, which was scarcely legible, especially to a foreigner. Emilie, with her eyes full of tears, had no chance of deciphering it.

"Do not hurry yourself, ma'am," said Mrs. Somers. "I will leave you my letter to show to madame la comtesse, and then you will be so good as to despatch it.--Mlle. de Coulanges," cried Mrs. Somers, "you will be so obliging as to refrain from mentioning to the countess the foolish offer that I made you in my son's name this morning. There is no necessity for mortifying my pride any farther--a refusal from you is quite decisive--so pray let there be no consultations. As to the rest, the blame of our disagreement will of course be thrown upon me."

As Emilie moved towards the door, Mrs. Somers said, "Mlle. de Coulanges, I beg pardon for calling you back: but should you ever think of this business or of me, hereafter, you will do me the justice to remember that I made the proposal to you at a time when I was under the firm belief that you would never recover an inch of your estates in France."

"And you, dear Mrs. Somers, if you should ever think of me hereafter,"

said Emilie, "will, I hope, remember that my answer was given under the same belief."

With a look which seemed to refuse a.s.sent, Mrs. Somers continued, "I am as well aware, ma'am, as you, or Mad. de Coulanges, can be, that if you should recover your hereditary property, the heiress of the house of Coulanges would be a person to whom my son should not presume to aspire."

"Oh, Mrs. Somers! Is not this cruel mockery--undeserved by me--unworthy of you?"

"Mockery!--Ma'am, it is not three days since your mother was so positive in her expectations of being in the Hotel de Coulanges before next winter, that she was almost in fits because I ventured to differ on this point from her and Lady Littleton--Lady Littleton's judgment is much better than mine, and has, of course, had its weight--very justly--But I insist upon your understanding clearly that it had no weight with me in this affair. Whatever you may imagine, I never thought of the Coulanges estate."

"Believe me, I never could have imagined that you did. If _I_ could suspect Mrs. Somers of interested motives," said Emilie, with emotion so great that she could scarcely articulate the words, "I must be an unfeeling--an ungrateful idiot!"

"No, not an idiot, Mlle. de Coulanges--n.o.body can mistake you for an idiot: but, as I was going to say, if you inquire, Lady Littleton can tell you that I was absolutely provoked when I first heard you had a chance of recovering your property--you may smile, ma'am, but it is perfectly true. I own I might have been more prudent; but prudence, in affairs of the heart, is not one of my virtues: I own, however, it would have been more prudent to have refrained from making this proposal, till you had received a positive answer from France."

"And why?" said Emilie. "Whatever that answer might have been, surely you must be certain that it would not have made any alteration in my conduct.--You are silent, Mrs. Somers!--You wound me to the heart!--Oh! do me justice!--Justice is all I ask."

"I think that I do you justice--full justice--Mlle. de Coulanges; and if it wounds you to the heart, I am sorry for it; but that is not my fault."

Emilie's countenance suddenly changed from the expression of supplicating tenderness to haughty indignation. "You doubt my integrity!" she exclaimed: "then, indeed, Mrs. Somers, it is best that we should part!"

Mlle. de Coulanges disappeared, and Mrs. Somers shut herself up in her room, where she walked backwards and forwards for above an hour, then threw herself upon a sofa, and remained nearly another hour, till Mrs.

Masham came to say that it was time to dress for dinner. She then started up, saying aloud, "I will think no more of these ungrateful people."

"They are gone, ma'am," said Mrs. Masham--"gone, and gave no vails!--which I don't think _on_, upon my own account, G.o.d knows! for if millions were offered me, in pocket-pieces, I would not touch one from any soul that comes to the house, having enough, and more than enough, from my own generous lady, who is the only person I stoop to receive from with pleasure. But there are others in the house who are accustomed to vails, and, after staying so long, it was a little ungenteel to go without so much as offering any one any thing--and to go in such a hurry and huff--taking only a French leave, after all!

I must acknowledge with you, ma'am, that they are the ungratefullest people that ever were seen in England. Why, ma'am, I went backwards and forwards often enough into their apartments, to try to make out the cause of the packings and messages to the washer-woman, that I might inform you, but nothing transpired; yet I am certain, in their hearts, they are more black and ungrateful than any that ever were born; for there!--at the last moment, when even, for old acquaintance sake, the tears stood in my eyes, there was Miss Emilie, sitting as composedly as a judge, painting a b.u.t.terfly's wing on some of her Frenchifications! Her eyes were red, to do her justice; but whether with painting or crying, I can't pretend to be certain. But as to Mad.