'that would indeed not be wisdom, but folly,' said emily, 'for wisdom can boast no higher attainment than happiness; but you will allow, madam, that our ideas of happiness may differ.i cannot doubt, that you wish me to be happy, but i must fear you are mistaken in the means of making me so.'
'i cannot boast of a learned education, niece, such as your father thought proper to give you, and, therefore, do not pretend to understand all these fine speeches about happiness.i must be contented to understand only common sense, and happy would it have been for you and your father, if that had been included in his education.'
emily was too much shocked by these reflections on her father's memory, to despise this speech as it deserved.
madame montoni was about to speak, but emily quitted the room, and retired to her own, where the little spirit she had lately exerted yielded to grief and vexation, and left her only to her tears.from every review of her situation she could derive, indeed, only new sorrow.to the discovery, which had just been forced upon her, of montoni's unworthiness, she had now to add, that of the cruel vanity, for the gratification of which her aunt was about to sacrifice her;of the effrontery and cunning, with which, at the time that she meditated the sacrifice, she boasted of her tenderness, or insulted her victim; and of the venomous envy, which, as it did not scruple to attack her father's character, could scarcely be expected to withhold from her own.
during the few days that intervened between this conversation and the departure for miarenti, montoni did not once address himself to emily.his looks sufficiently declared his resentment; but that he should forbear to renew a mention of the subject of it, exceedingly surprised her, who was no less astonished, that, during three days, count morano neither visited montoni, or was named by him.several conjectures arose in her mind.sometimes she feared that the dispute between them had been revived, and had ended fatally to the count.