mained so near. Some remarks,
however, which the Count made upon the dance obliged her to turn her
eyes towards it, and, at that moment, Valancourt's met hers. Her colour
faded again, she felt, that she was relapsing into faintness, and
instantly averted her looks, but not before she had observed the altered
countenance of Valancourt, on perceiving her. She would have left the
spot immediately, had she not been conscious, that this conduct would
have shewn him more obviously the interest he held in her heart; and,
having tried to attend to the Count's conversation, and to join in
it, she, at length, recovered her spirits. But, when he made some
observation on Valancourt's partner, the fear of shewing that she was
interested in the remark, would have betrayed it to him, had not
the Count, while he spoke, looked towards the person of whom he was
speaking. 'The lady,' said he, 'dancing with that young Chevalier, who
appears to be accomplished in every thing, but in dancing, is ranked
among the beauties of Tholouse. 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 k