IF THE DARCY FAMILY had apprehensions of the Comte’s displeasure on the following morning, their fears were unnecessary. The Comte met them at breakfast perfectly composed, if not with his usual cheerful urbanity. Darcy received an handsome volume from the Comte upon their leave-taking, Trait des Arbres Fruitiers, an exquisitely coloured folio which, when opened, revealed plate after plate of the most wonderfully detailed depictions of every French variety of fruiting tree. The present of the book, thought Elizabeth, was indeed a representation of the Comte himself: cultivated, well-grown, bountiful, and in every way delightful. In deference to Georgiana’s feelings, Elizabeth kept her jeu de mots to herself; it was just as well, she reflected, as Mr. Darcy might not find this particular example of her wit especially diverting. Having no firm idea of meeting the Comte, but in hopes that they might be able to view Belle Aire during the course of their stay in France, Mr. Darcy had thoughtfully carried along a set of the Pomona Brittanica. The Comte had very graciously and gratefully received the reciprocal volumes, and the gentlemen parted in firm friendship.

The Comtesse was not come down from her toilette, but Amélie was returned in time to wish them a pleasant journey. She seemed genuinely sorry to see them go; Elizabeth imagined that she had little other female society excepting her mother, and almost considered asking her to be of their party, at least as far as Geneva. However, in the reflection of the next moment, the requisite lady’s maid and two footmen for the return journey would be very inconvenient to accommodate, and it would take some time for her to make ready. Elizabeth could also easily imagine that, in Amélie, Georgiana would be reminded of having occasioned the agreeable Comte distress, only serving to magnify her own. Elizabeth quickly resolved, with much practicality and not a little regret, to leave matters as they stood; within an hour, the Darcy party was down the allée and outside the elegant iron gates.

The first minutes of the drive that saw the Darcy family’s departure from Belle Aire were characterised by an uneasy silence, and Elizabeth kept a tight hold of Georgiana’s hand. In some little time, however, the awkwardness dissipated, and the travellers once again resumed their usual ease of conversation to some degree. Georgiana struggled to keep the appearance of happiness, although she now suffered under a double measure of distress.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth reflected to herself as they passed out of Belle Aire, “it was all so very unaccountable how two men, separated by nationality, distance, and history, could be so similar in manners, taste, and even thought! I wonder if we will meet a Swiss Mr. Darcy? It seems more probable than an Italian example, but as I could not conceive of there being another such at all, it is certainly preferable to enter both countries without prejudice.”