“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—”