heard somebody knock softly at her door. It was Emilie. “Mrs. Masham told me that you were awake, madam, or I should not--” “Come in, come in, my dearest Emilie--I am awake--wide awake. Is your mother better?” “Alas! no, madam!” “Sit down, my dear, and do not call me _madam_, so coldly.--I do not deserve it.” “My dear friend! friend of mamma! my dearest friend!” cried Emilie, bursting into tears, and seizing Mrs. Somers’ hand; “do not accuse me of coldness to you. I am always afraid that my French expressions should sound exaggerated to English ears, and that you should think I say too much to be sincere in expressing my gratitude.” “My sweet Emilie, who could doubt your sincerity?--none but a brute or a fool: but do not talk to me of gratitude.” “I must,” said Emilie; “for I feel it.” “Prove it to me, then, in the manner I like best--in the only manner I like--by putting it in my power to serve you. I do not intrude upon your mother’s confidence--I make no inquiries; but do me the justice to tell me how I can be of use to her--or rather to you. From you I expect frankness. Command my fortune, my time, my credit, my utmost exertions--they are all, they ever have been, they ever shall be, whilst I have life, at the command of my friends. And are not you my friend?” “Generous lady!--You overpower me with your goodness.” “No praises, no speeches!--Actions for me!--Tell me how I can serve you.” “Alas! _you_, even you, can do us no good in this business.” “That I will never believe, till I know the business.” “The worst of it is,” said Emilie, “that we must leave you.” “Leave me! Impossible!” cried Mrs. Somers, starting up.--You shall not leave me, that I am determined upon. Why cannot you speak out at once, and tell me what is the matter, Emilie? How can I act, unless I am trusted? and who deserves to be trusted by you, if I do not?” “Assuredly nobody deserves it better; and if it were only my affair, dear Mrs. Somers, you should have known it as soon as I knew it myself; but it is mamma’s, more than mine.” “Madame la comtesse, then, does not think me worthy of her confidence,” said Mrs. Somers, in a haughty tone, whilst displeasure clouded her whole countenance. “Is that what I am to understand from you, Mille. de Coulanges?” “No, no; that is not what you are to understand, dear madam--my dear friend, I should say,” cried Emilie, alarmed. “Certainly I have explained myself ill, or you could not suspect mamma for a moment of such injustice. She knows you to be most worthy of her confidence; but on this occasion her reserve, believe me, proceeds solely from motives of delicacy, of which you could not but approve.”