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  CHAPTER XI

  I leave that flowery path for eye Of childhood, where I sported many a day, Warbling and sauntering carelessly along; Where every face was innocent and gay, Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue, Sweet, wild, and artless all. THE MINSTREL

  At an early hour, the carriage, which was to take Emily and MadameCheron to Tholouse, appeared at the door of the chateau, and Madame wasalready in the breakfast-room, when her niece entered it. The repastwas silent and melancholy on the part of Emily; and Madame Cheron, whosevanity was piqued on observing her dejection, reproved her in a mannerthat did not contribute to remove it. It was with much reluctance, thatEmily's request to take with her the dog, which had been a favouriteof her father, was granted. Her aunt, impatient to be gone, ordered thecarriage to draw up; and, while she passed to the hall door, Emily gaveanother look into the library, and another farewell glance over thegarden, and then followed. Old Theresa stood at the door to take leaveof her young lady. 'God for ever keep you, ma'amselle!' said she, whileEmily gave her hand in silence, and could answer only with a pressure ofher hand, and a forced smile.

  At the gate, which led out of the grounds, several of her father'spensioners were assembled to bid her farewell, to whom she would havespoken, if her aunt would have suffered the driver to stop; and, havingdistributed to them almost all the money she had about her, she sunkback in the carriage, yielding to the melancholy of her heart. Soonafter, she caught, between the steep banks of the road, another view ofthe chateau, peeping from among the high trees, and surrounded by greenslopes and tufted groves, the Garonne winding its way beneath theirshades, sometimes lost among the vineyards, and then rising in greatermajesty in the distant pastures. The towering precipices of thePyrenees, that rose to the south, gave Emily a thousand interestingrecollections of her late journey; and these objects of her formerenthusiastic admiration, now excited only sorrow and regret. Havinggazed on the chateau and its lovely scenery, till the banks again closedupon them, her mind became too much occupied by mournful reflections, topermit her to attend to the conversation, which Madame Cheron had begunon some trivial topic, so that they soon travelled in profound silence.

  Valancourt, mean while, was returned to Estuviere, his heart occupiedwith the image of Emily; sometimes indulging in reveries of futurehappiness, but more frequently shrinking with dread of the oppositionhe might encounter from her family. He was the younger son of an ancientfamily of Gascony; and, having lost his parents at an early periodof his life, the care of his education and of his small portion haddevolved to his brother, the Count de Duvarney, his senior by nearlytwenty years. Valancourt had been educated in all the accomplishmentsof his age, and had an ardour of spirit, and a certain grandeur ofmind, that gave him particular excellence in the exercises then thoughtheroic. His little fortune had been diminished by the necessary expencesof his education; but M. La Valancourt, the elder, seemed to think thathis genius and accomplishments would amply supply the deficiency of hisinheritance. They offered flattering hopes of promotion in the militaryprofession, in those times almost the only one in which a gentlemancould engage without incurring a stain on his name; and La Valancourtwas of course enrolled in the army. The general genius of his mind wasbut little understood by his brother. That ardour for whatever is greatand good in the moral world, as well as in the natural one, displayeditself in his infant years; and the strong indignation, which he feltand expressed at a criminal, or a mean action, sometimes drew upon himthe displeasure of his tutor; who reprobated it under the generalterm of violence of temper; and who, when haranguing on the virtues ofmildness and moderation, seemed to forget the gentleness and compassion,which always appeared in his pupil towards objects of misfortune.

  He had now obtained leave of absence from his regiment when he made theexcursion into the Pyrenees, which was the means of introducing him toSt. Aubert; and, as this permission was nearly expired, he was the moreanxious to declare himself to Emily's family, from whom he reasonablyapprehended opposition, since his fortune, though, with a moderateaddition from hers, it would be sufficient to support them, would notsatisfy the views, either of vanity, or ambition. Valancourt was notwithout the latter, but he saw golden visions of promotion in the army;and believed, that with Emily he could, in the mean time, be delightedto live within the limits of his humble income. His thoughts were nowoccupied in considering the means of making himself known to her family,to whom, however, he had yet no address, for he was entirely ignorant ofEmily's precipitate departure from La Vallee, of whom he hoped to obtainit.

  Meanwhile, the travellers pursued their journey; Emily making frequentefforts to appear cheerful, and too often relapsing into silence anddejection. Madame Cheron, attributing her melancholy solely to thecircumstance of her being removed to a distance from her lover, andbelieving, that the sorrow, which her niece still expressed for theloss of St. Aubert, proceeded partly from an affectation of sensibility,endeavoured to make it appear ridiculous to her, that such deep regretshould continue to be felt so long after the period usually allowed forgrief.

  At length, these unpleasant lectures were interrupted by the arrival ofthe travellers at Tholouse; and Emily, who had not been there for manyyears, and had only a very faint recollection of it, was surprised atthe ostentatious style exhibited in her aunt's house and furniture; themore so, perhaps, because it was so totally different from the modestelegance, to which she had been accustomed. She followed Madame Cheronthrough a large hall, where several servants in rich liveries appeared,to a kind of saloon, fitted up with more shew than taste; and her aunt,complaining of fatigue, ordered supper immediately. 'I am glad to findmyself in my own house again,' said she, throwing herself on a largesettee, 'and to have my own people about me. I detest travelling;though, indeed, I ought to like it, for what I see abroad always makesme delighted to return to my own chateau. What makes you so silent,child?--What is it that disturbs you now?'

  Emily suppressed a starting tear, and tried to smile away the expressionof an oppressed heart; she was thinking of HER home, and felt toosensibly the arrogance and ostentatious vanity of Madame Cheron'sconversation. 'Can this be my father's sister!' said she to herself; andthen the conviction that she was so, warming her heart with somethinglike kindness towards her, she felt anxious to soften the harshimpression her mind had received of her aunt's character, and to shewa willingness to oblige her. The effort did not entirely fail; shelistened with apparent cheerfulness, while Madame Cheron expatiatedon the splendour of her house, told of the numerous parties sheentertained, and what she should expect of Emily, whose diffidenceassumed the air of a reserve, which her aunt, believing it to be thatof pride and ignorance united, now took occasion to reprehend. She knewnothing of the conduct of a mind, that fears to trust its own powers;which, possessing a nice judgment, and inclining to believe, that everyother person perceives still more critically, fears to commit itselfto censure, and seeks shelter in the obscurity of silence. Emily hadfrequently blushed at the fearless manners, which she had seen admired,and the brilliant nothings, which she had heard applauded; yet thisapplause, so far from encouraging her to imitate the conduct that hadwon it, rather made her shrink into the reserve, that would protect herfrom such absurdity.

  Madame Cheron looked on her niece's diffidence with a feeling very nearto contempt, and endeavoured to overcome it by reproof, rather than toencourage it by gentleness.

  The entrance of supper somewhat interrupted the complacent discourse ofMadame Cheron and the painful considerations, which it had forcedupon Emily. When the repast, which was rendered ostentatious by theattendance of a great number of servants, and by a profusion of plate,was over, Madame Cheron retired to her chamber, and a female servantcame to shew Emily to hers. Having passed up a large stair-case, andthrough several galleries, they came to a flight of back stairs, whichled into a short passage in a remote part of the chateau, and therethe servant opened the door of a small chamber, which she said wasMa'amselle Emily's, who, once more alone, in
dulged the tears she hadlong tried to restrain.

  Those, who know, from experience, how much the heart becomes attachedeven to inanimate objects, to which it has been long accustomed, howunwillingly it resigns them; how with the sensations of an old friend itmeets them, after temporary absence, will understand the forlornnessof Emily's feelings, of Emily shut out from the only home she hadknown from her infancy, and thrown upon a scene, and among persons,disagreeable for more qualities than their novelty. Her father'sfavourite dog, now in the chamber, thus seemed to acquire the characterand importance of a friend; and, as the animal fawned over her when shewept, and licked her hands, 'Ah, poor Manchon!' said she, 'I have nobodynow to love me--but you!' and she wept the more. After some time, herthoughts returning to her father's injunctions, she remembered how oftenhe had blamed her for indulging useless sorrow; how often he had pointedout to her the necessity of fortitude and patience, assuring her, thatthe faculties of the mind strengthen by exertion, till they finallyunnerve affliction, and triumph over it. These recollections dried hertears, gradually soothed her spirits, and inspired her with the sweetemulation of practising precepts, which her father had so frequentlyinculcated.