“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 spoken, 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.