The soft and shadowy tint, that overspread the scene, the waves,
undulating in the moon-light, and their low and measured murmurs on the
beach, were circumstances, that united to elevate the unaccustomed mind
of Blanche to enthusiasm.
'And have I lived in this glorious world so long,' said she, 'and never
till now beheld such a prospect--never experienced these delights! Every
peasant girl, on my father's domain, has viewed from her infancy the
face of nature; has ranged, at liberty, her romantic wilds, while I have
been shut in a cloister from the view of these beautiful appearances,
which were designed to enchant all eyes, and awaken all hearts. How
can the poor nuns and friars feel the full fervour of devotion, if they
never see the sun rise, or set? Never, till this evening, did I know
what true devotion is; for, never before did I see the sun sink below
the vast earth! To-morrow, for the first time in my life, I will see
it rise.
O, who would live in Paris, to look upon black walls and dirty
streets, when, in the country, they might gaze on the blue heavens, and
all the green earth!' This enthusiastic soliloquy was interrupted by a rustling noise in the
hall; and, while the loneliness of the place made her sensible to fear,
she thought she perceived something moving between the pillars. For
a moment, she continued silently observing it, till, ashamed of her
ridiculous apprehensions, she recollected courage enough to demand who
was there. 'O my young lady, is it you?' said the old housekeeper, who
was come to shut the windows, 'I am glad it is you.' The manner, in
which she spoke this, with a faint breath, rather surprised Blanche, who
said, 'You seemed frightened, Dorothee, what is the matter?'
'No, not frightened, ma'amselle,' replied Dorothee, hesitating and
trying to appear composed, 'but I am old, and--a little matter startles
me.' The Lady Blanche smiled at the distinction. 'I am glad, that my
lord the Count is come to live at the chateau, ma'amselle,' continued
Dorothee, 'for it has been many a year deserted, and dreary enough; now,
the place will look a little as it used to do, when my poor lady was
alive.' Blanche enquired how long it was, since the Marchioness died?
'Alas! my lady,' replied Dorothee, 'so long--that I have ceased to count
the years! The place, to my mind, has mourned ever since, and I am sure
my lord's vassals have! But you have lost yourself, ma'amselle,--shall I
shew you to the other side of the chateau?'