Elizabeth was seated opposite two handsome images, which she supposed to be the marriage-portraits of the late Comte and his young wife. The Comte wore a plain, dark coat with fine lace cuffs, and a long, richly embroidered waistcoat. Standing near a table, upon which was an open book—how like the late Mr. Darcy’s portrait!—his attitude spoke of refinement and a cultivation of taste and mind. Unlike Mr. Darcy’s father, le Comte Père had a slight but discernable smile. His young wife faced him in her golden frame, wearing a closed robe of brown taffeta, trimmed in ermine, with several layers of fine Brussels lace at the elbow. She was—unlike her husband—out-of-doors in a garden, carrying a small trug full of a flowering vine and some orchard fruits. How was it possible, thought Elizabeth, that there could be two such similar couples in all of Christendom as were the elder d’Estrouvilles and Darcys? Allowing for the greater taste for finery of the French, the parents were very alike, indeed. It was not so wonderful, she reflected, that the Comte and her own husband should, therefore, be so alike as well.

Amélie and Elizabeth were amused and delighted with each other, but Georgiana could not be comfortable, feeling that any familiarity on her side would lead the Comte into false hopes, and the others to assume an understanding, for, as her bother and the Comte returned from their walk, she could discern no evidence that the promised conversation between her brother and the Comte had transpired. At dinner Georgiana was most pointedly the object of the Comte’s attention, a fact that did not in any way escape the notice of the dowager or her daughter, and clearly gave no rise in either to the slightest indication of disapprobation. The Comte had slyly contrived to have her seated to his right at dinner, and did so with such a subtle manoeuvre that Georgiana was unawares until she was actually in her seat! Georgiana was uncomfortable enough, but the conversation was interesting and amusing to an uncommon degree at the dinner-table, and after the third or fourth course had been cleared away, she ventured a syllable or two of her own. She and Amélie played and sang after dinner. The Comte joined them at the end; in a beautiful baritone, he made a delightful third for “Trois Beaux Canards.” As he walked her to the stairs shortly afterwards and handed her the light, Georgiana could find no reason to believe that the much wished-for conversation between the Comte and her brother had taken place, after the ladies had withdrawn following supper that evening. She was not mistaken, for a knock on her bedchamber door shortly after she had retired admitted Mr. Darcy.