In a few minutes Mrs. Somers returned with an unfolded letter, which she put into Emilie’s passive 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 assent, 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—nobody 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.”