Soon after his arrival at Venice, Montoni received a packet from M.
Quesnel, in which the latter mentioned the death of his wife's uncle,
at his villa on the Brenta; and that, in consequence of this event, he
should hasten to take possession of that estate and of other effects
bequeathed to him. This uncle was the brother of Madame Quesnel's late
mother; Montoni was related to her by the father's side, and though
he could have had neither claim nor expectation concerning these
possessions, he could scarcely conceal the envy which M. Quesnel's
letter excited. Emily had observed with concern, that, since they left France, Montoni
had not even affected kindness towards her aunt, and that, after
treating her, at first, with neglect, he now met her with uniform
ill-humour and reserve. She had never supposed, that her aunt's foibles
could have escaped the discernment of Montoni, or that her mind or
figure were of a kind to deserve his attention. Her surprise, therefore,
at this match, had been extreme; but since he had made the choice, she
did not suspect that he would so openly have discovered his contempt of
it.
But Montoni, who had been allured by the seeming wealth of Madame
Cheron, was now severely disappointed by her comparative poverty, and
highly exasperated by the deceit she had employed to conceal it, till
concealment was no longer necessary. He had been deceived in an affair,
wherein he meant to be the deceiver; out-witted by the superior
cunning of a woman, whose understanding he despised, and to whom he had
sacrificed his pride and his liberty, without saving himself from the
ruin, which had impended over his head. Madame Montoni had contrived
to have the greatest part of what she really did possess, settled upon
herself: what remained, though it was totally inadequate both to her
husband's expectations, and to his necessities, he had converted into
money, and brought with him to Venice, that he might a little longer
delude society, and make a last effort to regain the fortunes he had
lost.
The hints which had been thrown out to Valancourt, concerning Montoni's
character and condition, were too true; but it was now left to time and
occasion, to unfold the circumstances, both of what had, and of what had
not been hinted, and to time and occasion we commit them.
Madame Montoni was not of a nature to bear injuries with meekness, or to
resent them with dignity: her exasperated pride displayed itself in all
the violence and acrimony of a little, or at least of an ill-regulated
mind. She would not acknowledge, even to herself, that she had in any
degree provoked contempt by her duplicity, but weakly persisted in
believing, that she alone was to be pitied, and Montoni alone to be
censured; for, as her mind had naturally little perception of moral
obligation, she seldom understood its force but when it happened to be
violated towards herself: her vanity had already been severely shocked
by a discovery of Montoni's contempt; it remained to be farther reproved
by a discovery of his circumstances. His mansion at Venice, though its
furniture discovered a part of the truth to unprejudiced persons, told
nothing to those who were blinded by a resolution to believe whatever
they wished. Madame Montoni still thought herself little less than
a princess, possessing a palace at Venice, and a castle among the
Apennines. To the castle di Udolpho, indeed, Montoni sometimes talked of
going for a few weeks to examine into its condition, and to receive some
rents; for it appeared that he had not been there for two years, and
that, during this period, it had been inhabited only by an old servant,
whom he called his steward.