The news from France was such as made the looking-glass drop from the hand of Mad. de Coulanges. It was a letter from the son of her old steward, to tell her that his father was dead—that he was now in possession of all the family fortune, which he was impatient to restore to the wife and daughter of his former master and friend.
“Heaven be praised!” exclaimed Mad. de Coulanges, in an ecstasy of joy—“Heaven be praised! we shall once more see dear Paris, and the Hotel de Coulanges!”
“Heaven be praised!” cried Emilie, “I shall never more see M. de Brisac. My mother, I am sure, will no longer wish me to marry him.”
“No, in truth,” said the countess, “it would now be a most unequal match, and one to which he is by no means entitled. How fortunate it is that I had not given him my promise!—After all, your aversion to him, child, was quite providential. Now you may form the most splendid alliance that your heart can desire.”
“My heart,” said Emilie, sighing, “desires no splendid alliance. But had you not better lie down, dear mamma?—You will certainly catch cold—and remember, your mind must be kept quiet.”
It was impossible to keep her mind quiet; she ran on from one subject to another with extravagant volubility; and Emilie was afraid that she would, the next day, be quite exhausted; but, on the contrary, after talking above half the night, she fell into a sound sleep; and when she wakened, after having slept fourteen hours, she declared that she would no longer be kept a prisoner in bed. The renovating effects of joy and the influence of the imagination were never more strongly displayed. “Le malheur passé n’est bon qu’à être oublié,” was la comtesse’s favourite maxim—and to do her justice, she was as ready to forget past quarrels as past misfortunes. She readily complied with Emilie’s request that she would, as soon as she was able to go out, accompany her to Lady Littleton’s, that they might meet and be reconciled to Mrs. Somers.
“She has the most tormenting temper imaginable,” said the countess; “and I would not live with her for the universe—Mais d’ailleurs c’est la meilleure femme du monde.”
If, instead of being the best woman in the world, Mrs. Somers had been the worst, and if, instead of being a benefactress, she had been an enemy, it would have been all the same thing to the countess; for, in this moment, she was, as usual, like a child, a friend to every creature of every kind.
Her volubility was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Littleton, who came to carry Mad. de Coulanges and Emilie to her house, where, as her ladyship said, Mrs. Somers was impatiently waiting for them. Lady Littleton had prevented her from coming to this poor lodging-house, because she knew that the being seen there would mortify the pride of some of the house of Coulanges.
Mrs. Somers was indeed waiting for them with inexpressible impatience. The moment she heard their voices in the hall at Lady Littleton’s, she ran down stairs to meet them; and as she embraced Emilie she could not refrain from bursting into tears.