Emily wrote on the opposite page of the paper as follows:
'It is now useless, sir, for me to remonstrate upon the circumstances
of which Signor Montoni informs me that he has written. I could
have wished, at least, that the affair had been concluded with
less precipitation, that I might have taught myself to subdue some
prejudices, as the Signor calls them, which still linger in my heart. As
it is, I submit. In point of prudence nothing certainly can be objected;
but, though I submit, I have yet much to say on some other points of the
subject, when I shall have the honour of seeing you. In the meantime I
entreat you will take care of Theresa, for the sake of, Sir,
Your affectionate niece,
EMILY ST. AUBERT.'
Montoni smiled satirically at what Emily had written, but did not object
to it, and she withdrew to her own apartment, where she sat down to
begin a letter to Valancourt, in which she related the particulars
of her journey, and her arrival at Venice, described some of the most
striking scenes in the passage over the Alps; her emotions on her first
view of Italy; the manners and characters of the people around her, and
some few circumstances of Montoni's conduct. But she avoided even naming
Count Morano, much more the declaration he had made, since she well knew
how tremblingly alive to fear is real love, how jealously watchful of
every circumstance that may affect its interest; and she scrupulously
avoided to give Valancourt even the slightest reason for believing he
had a rival. On the following day Count Morano dined again at Montoni's. He was in
an uncommon flow of spirits, and Emily thought there was somewhat of
exultation in his manner of addressing her, which she had never observed
before. She endeavoured to repress this by more than her usual reserve,
but the cold civility of her air now seemed rather to encourage than to
depress him. He appeared watchful of an opportunity of speaking with her
alone, and more than once solicited this; but Emily always replied, that
she could hear nothing from him which he would be unwilling to repeat
before the whole company.
In the evening, Madame Montoni and her party went out upon the sea, and
as the Count led Emily to his zendaletto, he carried her hand to his
lips, and thanked her for the condescension she had shown him. Emily,
in extreme surprise and displeasure, hastily withdrew her hand, and
concluded that he had spoken ironically; but, on reaching the steps
of the terrace, and observing by the livery, that it was the Count's
zendaletto which waited below, while the rest of the party, having
arranged themselves in the gondolas, were moving on, she determined
not to permit a separate conversation, and, wishing him a good evening,
returned to the portico. The Count followed to expostulate and entreat,
and Montoni, who then came out, rendered solicitation unnecessary, for,
without condescending to speak, he took her hand, and led her to the
zendaletto. Emily was not silent; she entreated Montoni, in a low voice,
to consider the impropriety of these circumstances, and that he would
spare her the mortification of submitting to them; he, however, was
inflexible. 'This caprice is intolerable,' said he, 'and shall not be indulged:
there is no impropriety in the case.'