remembered
Valancourt, and a sigh sometimes followed the recollection.

Several weeks passed in the course of customary visits, during which
nothing remarkable occurred. Emily was amused by the manners and scenes
that surrounded her, so different from those of France, but where Count
Morano, too frequently for her comfort, contrived to introduce himself.
His manner, figure and accomplishments, which were generally admired,
Emily would, perhaps, have admired also, had her heart been disengaged
from Valancourt, and had the Count forborne to persecute her with
officious attentions, during which she observed some traits in his
character, that prejudiced her against whatever might otherwise be good
in it.

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 up