The Mysteries of Udolpho

'Well, lady!' replied Dorothee, after a long pause, during which her

eyes were fixed upon Emily, 'you seem so much interested,--and this

picture and that face of yours make me think you have some reason to

be so,--that I will trust you--and tell some things, that I never told

before to any body, but my husband, though there are people, who have

suspected as much. I will tell you the particulars of my lady's death,

too, and some of my own suspicions; but you must first promise me by all

the saints'-Emily, interrupting her, solemnly promised never to reveal what should

be confided to her, without Dorothee's consent.

'But there is the horn, ma'amselle, sounding for dinner,' said Dorothee;

'I must be gone.' 'When shall I see you again?' enquired Emily.

Dorothee mused, and then replied, 'Why, madam, it may make people

curious, if it is known I am so much in your apartment, and that

I should be sorry for; so I will come when I am least likely to be

observed. I have little leisure in the day, and I shall have a good deal

to say; so, if you please, ma'am, I will come, when the family are all

in bed.' 'That will suit me very well,' replied Emily: 'Remember, then,

to-night'-'Aye, that is well remembered,' said Dorothee, 'I fear I cannot come

to-night, madam, for there will be the dance of the vintage, and it will

be late, before the servants go to rest; for, when they once set in to

dance, they will keep it up, in the cool of the air, till morning; at

least, it used to be so in my time.'

'Ah! is it the dance of the vintage?' said Emily, with a deep sigh,

remembering, that it was on the evening of this festival, in the

preceding year, that St. Aubert and herself had arrived in the

neighbourhood of Chateau-le-Blanc. She paused a moment, overcome by

the sudden recollection, and then, recovering herself, added--'But this

dance is in the open woods; you, therefore, will not be wanted, and can

easily come to me.' Dorothee replied, that she had been accustomed to be present at the

dance of the vintage, and she did not wish to be absent now; 'but if I

can get away, madam, I will,' said she.

Emily then hastened to the dining-room, where the Count conducted

himself with the courtesy, which is inseparable from true dignity, and

of which the Countess frequently practised little, though her manner to

Emily was an exception to her usual habit. But, if she retained few of

the ornamental virtues, she cherished other qualities, which she seemed

to consider invaluable.