The Mysteries of Udolpho

Before they separated for the night, M. Quesnel desired to speak with

St. Aubert alone, and they retired to another room, where they remained

a considerable time. The subject of this conversation was not known;

but, whatever it might be, St. Aubert, when he returned to the

supper-room, seemed much disturbed, and a shade of sorrow sometimes fell

upon his features that alarmed Madame St. Aubert. When they were alone

she was tempted to enquire the occasion of it, but the delicacy of mind,

which had ever appeared in his conduct, restrained her: she considered

that, if St. Aubert wished her to be acquainted with the subject of his

concern, he would not wait on her enquiries.

On the following day, before M. Quesnel departed, he had a second

conference with St. Aubert. The guests, after dining at the chateau, set out in the cool of the day

for Epourville, whither they gave him and Madame St. Aubert a pressing

invitation, prompted rather by the vanity of displaying their splendour,

than by a wish to make their friends happy.

Emily returned, with delight, to the liberty which their presence had

restrained, to her books, her walks, and the rational conversation of

M. and Madame St. Aubert, who seemed to rejoice, no less, that they were

delivered from the shackles, which arrogance and frivolity had imposed. Madame St. Aubert excused herself from sharing their usual evening walk,

complaining that she was not quite well, and St. Aubert and Emily went

out together. They chose a walk towards the mountains, intending to visit some old

pensioners of St. Aubert, which, from his very moderate income, he

contrived to support, though it is probable M. Quesnel, with his very

large one, could not have afforded this.

After distributing to his pensioners their weekly stipends, listening

patiently to the complaints of some, redressing the grievances of

others, and softening the discontents of all, by the look of sympathy,

and the smile of benevolence, St. Aubert returned home through the

woods, where

At fall of eve the fairy-people throng,

In various games and revelry to pass

The summer night, as village stories tell.*

*Thomson

'The evening gloom of woods was always delightful to me,' said St.

Aubert, whose mind now experienced the sweet calm, which results from

the consciousness of having done a beneficent action, and which disposes

it to receive pleasure from every surrounding object. 'I remember that

in my youth this gloom used to call forth to my fancy a thousand fairy

visions, and romantic images; and, I own, I am not yet wholly insensible

of that high enthusiasm, which wakes the poet's dream: I can linger,

with solemn steps, under the deep shades, send forward a transforming

eye into the distant obscurity, and listen with thrilling delight to the

mystic murmuring of the woods.'