“What, then, was the subject of your letter to Mons. Quesnel?”
“The same that was the subject of your note to him, certainly. You did well to stipulate for my confidence before you demanded that question.”
“I must beg you will be more explicit, sir; what was that subject?”
“What could it be, but the noble offer of Count Morano,” said Montoni.
“Then, sir, we entirely misunderstood each other,” replied Emily.
“We entirely misunderstood each other too, I suppose,” rejoined Montoni, “in the conversation which preceded the writing of that note? I must do you the justice to own, that you are very ingenious at this same art of misunderstanding.”
Emily tried to restrain the tears that came to her eyes, and to answer with becoming firmness. “Allow me, sir, to explain myself fully, or to be wholly silent.”
“The explanation may now be dispensed with; it is anticipated. If Count Morano still thinks one necessary, I will give him an honest one: you have changed your intention since our last conversation; and, if he can have patience and humility enough to wait till tomorrow, he will probably find it changed again: but as I have neither the patience nor the humility, which you expect from a lover, I warn you of the effect of my displeasure!”
“Montoni, you are too precipitate,” said the Count, who had listened to this conversation in extreme agitation and impatience;—“Signora, I entreat your own explanation of this affair!”
“Signor Montoni has said justly,” replied Emily, “that all explanation may now be dispensed with; after what has passed I cannot suffer myself to give one. It is sufficient for me, and for you, sir, that I repeat my late declaration; let me hope this is the last time it will be necessary for me to repeat it—I never can accept the honour of your alliance.”