“This afternoon—the first visit of Edmond de Sarinet to Valmont—is another of the scenes of her early childhood clearly impressed on my mother’s mind.”
Chapter Five.
My mother has been reading over what I have already written. She smiles at my description of her as a child, and maintains that my portrait of her, as well as that which hangs in the best parlour, is flattered. But I must, with all respect, disagree with her. She says I must now hurry on a little faster, otherwise I shall never arrive at the most interesting part of my story. Of the history of her early childhood there is not very much more to tell. It may really be said to have ended with the death of her dear father, the good Count, which took place early in the spring of the year after that of which I have been telling you. They had not expected him to linger so long, but the last winter of his life was an unusually mild one, and he had regained some strength during the preceding summer, when he had lived almost entirely in the open air. The last days, and weeks even, of his life are not very distinct in my mother’s remembrance. She thinks she was probably kept away from him a good deal on purpose, that she might not be saddened by the sight of his suffering and increased feebleness: and it seems to her, on looking back, that the greater part of that time was spent by her with Madame Germain and Pierre. But she distinctly remembers the day of the good Count’s death, and those that followed it: her poor mother’s terrible grief—how she clasped her to her arms, repeating that her Edmée was now all, all she had left; how bitterly she herself cried when she saw her dear father so cold and white and still, and through all, how kind and loving and unselfish were her dear “mamma Germain,” and Pierrot. Then came the funeral;—all the gentlemen of the neighbourhood assembled in the great salon, and first and foremost among them, and in everything, her uncle the Marquis, tall and dark and proud as ever, with a smile for her whenever he caught sight of her, which she disliked almost as much as his frown. He brought a magnificent box of bon-bons for her, and main pretty messages from her cousin ‘and devoted cavalier’ Edmond, none of which, she felt sure, child as she was, had really been sent by him. But she was a dignified little lady, and knew how to curtsey to the Marquis, and make her acknowledgments faultlessly, and to send messages in return to Edmond, saying that she would like to see him again, which seemed to please her uncle, and was really true.
“For she and Pierre had often talked together about the poor boy, and agreed that there must be some good in him, and that the ill was not to be wondered at, considering how feeble and pampered and badly brought up he had been.
“Many things were discussed at that time which Edmée knew nothing of till long afterwards.
“The Marquis did his utmost to persuade his sister to leave her dear home and take up her quarters at Sarinet for part of the year, accompanying him and his wife to Paris every autumn; there to spend six months in their house, in the Rue de Lille. But the Countess was firm in refusing. She knew in her heart, though she did not say so, that there never could be any real sympathy between herself and her sister-in-law, and she longed to keep Edmée in the country. But she thanked her brother for his kindness and affection for her, which so far as they went, were real.
”‘When Edmée is older,’ she said, ‘and her education calls for it, I must make up my mind to spend part of the year in Paris.’