“Tears of joy, these must be,” cried Mad. de Coulanges: “we are all happy now—perfectly happy—Are not we?—Embrace me, Mrs. Somers—Emilie shall not have all your heart—I have some gratitude as well as my daughter; and I should have none if I did not love you—especially at this moment.”
Mad. de Coulanges was, by this time, at the head of the stairs; a servant opened the drawing-room door; but something was amiss with the strings of her sandals—she would stay to adjust them—and said to Emilie, “Allez, allez—entrez.”
Emilie obeyed. An instant afterwards Mad. de Coulanges thought she heard a sudden cry, either of joy or grief, from Emilie—she hurried into the drawing-room.
“Bon Dieu! c’est notre homme de l’Abbaye!” cried she, starting back at the sight of a gentleman who had been kneeling at Emilie’s feet, and who arose as she entered.
“My son!” said Mrs. Somers, eagerly presenting him to Mad. de Coulanges—“my son! whom it is in your power to make the happiest or the most miserable of men!”
“In my power!—in Emilie’s, you mean, I suppose,” said the countess, smiling. “She is so good a girl that I cannot make her miserable; and as for you, Mrs. Somers, the honour of your alliance—and our obligations—But then I shall be miserable myself if she does not go back with me to the Hotel de Coulanges—Ah! Ciel!—And then poor M. de Brisac, he will be miserable, unless, to comfort him, I marry him myself.”—Half laughing, half crying, Mad. de Coulanges scarcely knew what she said or did.
It was some time before she was sufficiently composed to understand clearly what was said to her by any person in the room, though she asked, half a dozen times, at least, from every one present, an explanation of all that had happened.
Lady Littleton was the only person who could give an explanation. She had contrived this meeting, and even Mrs. Somers had not foreseen the event—she never suspected that her own son was the very person to whom Emilie was attached, and that it was for Emilie’s sake her son had hitherto refused to comply with her earnest desire that he should marry and settle in the world. He had no hopes that she would consent to his marrying a French girl without fortune, because she formerly quarrelled with him for refusing to marry a rich lady of quality, who happened to be, at that time, high in her favour. Upon the summons home that he received from her, he was alarmed by the apprehension that she had some new alliance in view for him, and he resolved, before he saw his mother, to trust his secret to Lady Littleton, who had always been a mediatrix and peace-maker. He declined telling the name of the object of his affections; but, from his description, and from many concomitant dates and circumstances, Lady Littleton was led to suspect that it might be Emilie de Coulanges. She consequently contrived an interview, which she knew must be decisive.
Mad. de Coulanges, whose imagination was now at Paris, felt rather disappointed at the idea of her daughter’s marrying an Englishman, who was neither a count, a marquis, nor even a baron; but Lady Littleton at length obtained that consent which she knew would be necessary to render Emilie happy, even in following the dictates of her heart, or her reason.
Some conversation passed between Lady Littleton and Mrs. Somers about a dormant title in the Somers’ family, which might be revived. This made a wonderful impression on the countess. She yielded, as she did every thing else, with a good grace.