r into a compliance with his wishes of uniting
her to Count Morano. Whether this was or was not the fact, she was
extremely anxious to explain the affair to M. Quesnel, and looked
forward with a mixture of impatience, hope and fear, to her approaching
visit.

On the following day, Madame Montoni, being alone with Emily, introduced
the mention of Count Morano, by expressing her surprise, that she had
not joined the party on the water the preceding evening, and at
her abrupt departure to Venice. Emily then related what had passed,
expressed her concern for the mutual mistake that had occurred between
Montoni and herself, and solicited her aunt's kind offices in urging him
to give a decisive denial to the count's further addresses; but she
soon perceived, that Madame Montoni had not been ignorant of the late
conversation, when she introduced the present.

'You have no encouragement to expect from me,' said her aunt, 'in these
notions. I have already given my opinion on the subject, and think
Signor Montoni right in enforcing, by any means, your consent. If young
persons will be blind to their interest, and obstinately oppose it, why,
the greatest blessings they can have are friends, who will oppose their
folly. Pray what pretensions of any kind do you think you have to such a
match as is now offered you?'

'Not any whatever, Madam,' replied Emily, 'and, therefore, at least,
suffer me to be happy in my humility.'

'Nay, niece, it cannot be denied, that you have pride enough; my poor
brother, your father, had his share of pride too; though, let me add,
his fortune did not justify it.'

Emily, somewhat embarrassed by the indignation, which this malevolent
allusion to her father excited, and by the difficulty of rendering her
answer as temperate as it should be reprehensive, hesitated for some
moments, in a confusion, which highly gratified her aunt. At length she
said, 'My father's pride, Madam, had a noble object--the happiness which
he knew could be derived only from goodness, knowledge and charity.
As it never consisted in his superiority, in point of fortune, to some
persons, it was not humbled by his inferiority, in that respect, to
others. He never disdained those, who were wretched by poverty
and misfortune; he did sometimes despise persons, who, with many
opportunities of happiness, rendered themselves miserable by vanity,
ignorance and cruelty. I shall think it my highest glory to emulate such
pride.'

'I do