The Mysteries of Udolpho

Emily, with Valancourt and Henri, now returned to the green, where the

latter presented Valancourt to the Count, who, she fancied, received him

with less than his usual benignity, though it appeared, that they were

not strangers to each other. He was invited, however, to partake of the

diversions of the evening; and, when he had paid his respects to the

Count, and while the dancers continued their festivity, he seated

himself by Emily, and conversed, without restraint. The lights, which

were hung among the trees, under which they sat, allowed her a more

perfect view of the countenance she had so frequently in absence

endeavoured to recollect, and she perceived, with some regret, that

it was not the same as when last she saw it. There was all its wonted

intelligence and fire; but it had lost much of the simplicity, and

somewhat of the open benevolence, that used to characterise it. Still,

however, it was an interesting countenance; but Emily thought she

perceived, at intervals, anxiety contract, and melancholy fix the

features of Valancourt; sometimes, too, he fell into a momentary musing,

and then appeared anxious to dissipate thought; while, at others, as he

fixed his eyes on Emily, a kind of sudden distraction seemed to

cross his mind.

In her he perceived the same goodness and beautiful

simplicity, that had charmed him, on their first acquaintance. The bloom

of her countenance was somewhat faded, but all its sweetness remained,

and it was rendered more interesting, than ever, by the faint expression

of melancholy, that sometimes mingled with her smile.

At his request, she related the most important circumstances, that

had occurred to her, since she left France, and emotions of pity and

indignation alternately prevailed in his mind, when he heard how much

she had suffered from the villany of Montoni. More than once, when she

was speaking of his conduct, of which the guilt was rather softened,

than exaggerated, by her representation, he started from his seat,

and walked away, apparently overcome as much by self accusation as by

resentment.

Her sufferings alone were mentioned in the few words, which

he could address to her, and he listened not to the account, which she

was careful to give as distinctly as possible, of the present loss of

Madame Montoni's estates, and of the little reason there was to expect

their restoration. At length, Valancourt remained lost in thought, and

then some secret cause seemed to overcome him with anguish. Again he

abruptly left her. When he returned, she perceived, that he had been

weeping, and tenderly begged, that he would compose himself. 'My

sufferings are all passed now,' said she, 'for I have escaped from the

tyranny of Montoni, and I see you well--let me also see you happy.'