The Mysteries of Udolpho

Though this was spoken in a low voice, it was overheard by the Count,

who immediately replied, that Mademoiselle St. Aubert was then too much

indisposed, to attend to any conversation, but that he would venture

to promise she would see Monsieur Valancourt on the morrow, if she was

better. Valancourt's cheek was crimsoned: he looked haughtily at the Count,

and then at Emily, with successive expressions of surprise, grief and

supplication, which she could neither misunderstand, or resist, and she

said languidly--'I shall be better tomorrow, and if you wish to accept

the Count's permission, I will see you then.'

'See me!' exclaimed Valancourt, as he threw a glance of mingled pride

and resentment upon the Count; and then, seeming to recollect

himself, he added--'But I will come, madam; I will accept the Count's

PERMISSION.' When they reached the door of the chateau, he lingered a moment, for

his resentment was now fled; and then, with a look so expressive of

tenderness and grief, that Emily's heart was not proof against it, he

bade her good morning, and, bowing slightly to the Count, disappeared.

Emily withdrew to her own apartment, under such oppression of heart as

she had seldom known, when she endeavoured to recollect all that the

Count had told, to examine the probability of the circumstances

he himself believed, and to consider of her future conduct towards

Valancourt. But, when she attempted to think, her mind refused controul,

and she could only feel that she was miserable. One moment, she sunk

under the conviction, that Valancourt was no longer the same, whom she

had so tenderly loved, the idea of whom had hitherto supported her

under affliction, and cheered her with the hope of happier days,--but

a fallen, a worthless character, whom she must teach herself to

despise--if she could not forget. Then, unable to endure this terrible

supposition, she rejected it, and disdained to believe him capable of

conduct, such as the Count had described, to whom she believed he had

been misrepresented by some artful enemy; and there were moments, when

she even ventured to doubt the integrity of the Count himself, and to

suspect, that he was influenced by some selfish motive, to break her

connection with Valancourt.

But this was the error of an instant, only;

the Count's character, which she had heard spoken of by Du Pont and

many other persons, and had herself observed, enabled her to judge, and

forbade the supposition; had her confidence, indeed, been less, there

appeared to be no temptation to betray him into conduct so treacherous,

and so cruel. Nor did reflection suffer her to preserve the hope, that

Valancourt had been mis-represented to the Count, who had said, that he

spoke chiefly from his own observation, and from his son's experience.

She must part from Valancourt, therefore, for ever--for what of either

happiness or tranquillity could she expect with a man, whose tastes were

degenerated into low inclinations, and to whom vice was become habitual?

whom she must no longer esteem, though the remembrance of what he once

was, and the long habit of loving him, would render it very difficult

for her to despise him. 'O Valancourt!' she would exclaim, 'having been

separated so long--do we meet, only to be miserable--only to part for

ever?'