person of whom he was speaking. “The lady,” said he, “dancing with that young Chevalier, who appears to be accomplished in everything, but in dancing, is ranked among the beauties of Thoulouse. She is handsome, and her fortune will be very large. I hope she will make a better choice in a partner for life than she has done in a partner for the dance, for I observe he has just put the set into great confusion; he does nothing but commit blunders. I am surprised, that, with his air and figure, he has not taken more care to accomplish himself in dancing.” 

 Emily, whose heart trembled at every word, that was now uttered, endeavoured to turn the conversation from Valancourt, by enquiring the name of the lady, with whom he danced; but, before the Count could reply, the dance concluded, and Emily, perceiving that Valancourt was coming towards her, rose and joined Madame Cheron. 

 “Here is the Chevalier Valancourt, madam,” said she in a whisper, “pray let us go.” Her aunt immediately moved on, but not before Valancourt had reached them, who bowed lowly to Madame Cheron, and with an earnest and dejected look to Emily, with whom, notwithstanding all her effort, an air of more than common reserve prevailed. The presence of Madame Cheron prevented Valancourt from remaining, and he passed on with a countenance, whose melancholy reproached her for having increased it. Emily was called from the musing fit, into which she had fallen, by the Count Bauvillers, who was known to her aunt. 

 “I have your pardon to beg, ma’amselle,” said he, “for a rudeness, which you will readily believe was quite unintentional. I did not know, that the Chevalier was your acquaintance, when I so freely criticised his dancing.” Emily blushed and smiled, and Madame Cheron spared her the difficulty of replying. “If you mean the person, who has just passed us,” said she, “I can assure you he is no acquaintance of either mine, or ma’amselle St. Aubert’s: I know nothing of him.” 

 “O! that is the Chevalier Valancourt,” said Cavigni carelessly, and looking back. “You know him then?” said Madame Cheron. “I am not acquainted with him,” replied Cavigni. “You don’t know, then, the reason I have to call him impertinent;—he has had the presumption to admire my niece!” 

 “If every man deserves the title of impertinent, who admires ma’amselle St. Aubert,” replied Cavigni, “I fear there are a great many impertinents, and I am willing to acknowledge myself one of the number.” 

 “O Signor!” said Madame Cheron, with an 

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