Emily was too much absorbed in thought, to hear what she said.
''Tis a handsome lady, I am sure,' continued Annette: 'the Signor need not be ashamed to put her in the great apartment, where the veiled picture hangs.' Emily turned round.

'But for that matter, she would be as little seen there, as here, for the door is always locked, I find.' 'Let us leave this chamber,' said Emily: 'and let me caution you again, Annette; be guarded in your conversation, and never tell, that you know any thing of that picture.' 'Holy Mother!' exclaimed Annette, 'it is no secret; why all the servants have seen it already!' Emily started.

'How is this ?' said she--'Have seen it! When ?--how ?' 'Dear, ma'amselle, there is nothing surprising in that; we had all a little more CURIOUSNESS than you had.' 'I thought you told me, the door was kept locked ?' said Emily.
'If that was the case, ma'amselle,' replied Annette, looking about her, 'how could we get here ?' 'Oh, you mean THIS picture,' said Emily, with returning calmness.

'Well, Annette, here is nothing more to engage my attention; we will go.' Emily, as she passed to her own apartment, saw Montoni go down to the hall, and she turned into her aunt's dressing-room, whom she found weeping and alone, grief and resentment struggling on her countenance.
Pride had hitherto restrained complaint.

Judging of Emily's disposition from her own, and from a consciousness of what her treatment of her deserved, she had believed, that her griefs would be cause of triumph to her niece, rather than of sympathy; that she would despise, not pity her.