Emily, desirous of concluding the conversation, enquired if her aunt
would accept some refreshment, and Madame Cheron accompanied her to the
chateau, but without desisting from a topic, which she discussed with so
much complacency to herself, and severity to her niece.
'I am sorry to perceive, niece,' said she, in allusion to somewhat that
Emily had said, concerning physiognomy, 'that you have a great many of
your father's prejudices, and among them those sudden predilections for
people from their looks. I can perceive, that you imagine yourself to be
violently in love with this young adventurer, after an acquaintance of
only a few days. There was something, too, so charmingly romantic in the
manner of your meeting!'
Emily checked the tears, that trembled in her eyes, while she said,
'When my conduct shall deserve this severity, madam, you will do well
to exercise it; till then justice, if not tenderness, should surely
restrain it. I have never willingly offended you; now I have lost my
parents, you are the only person to whom I can look for kindness. Let me
not lament more than ever the loss of such parents.' The last words were
almost stifled by her emotions, and she burst into tears. Remembering
the delicacy and the tenderness of St. Aubert, the happy, happy days
she had passed in these scenes, and contrasting them with the coarse
and unfeeling behaviour of Madame Cheron, and from the future hours
of mortification she must submit to in her presence--a degree of grief
seized her, that almost reached despair. Madame Cheron, more offended
by the reproof which Emily's words conveyed, than touched by the
sorrow they expressed, said nothing, that might soften her grief; but,
notwithstanding an apparent reluctance to receive her niece, she desired
her company.
The love of sway was her ruling passion, and she knew it
would be highly gratified by taking into her house a young orphan, who
had no appeal from her decisions, and on whom she could exercise without
controul the capricious humour of the moment.
On entering the chateau, Madame Cheron expressed a desire, that she
would put up what she thought necessary to take to Tholouse, as she
meant to set off immediately. Emily now tried to persuade her to defer
the journey, at least till the next day, and, at length, with much
difficulty, prevailed.
The day passed in the exercise of petty tyranny on the part of Madame
Cheron, and in mournful regret and melancholy anticipation on that of
Emily, who, when her aunt retired to her apartment for the night, went
to take leave of every other room in this her dear native home, which
she was now quitting for she knew not how long, and for a world, to
which she was wholly a stranger. She could not conquer a presentiment,
which frequently occurred to her, this night--that she should never more
return to La Vallee. Having passed a considerable time in what had been
her father's study, having selected some of his favourite authors, to
put up with her clothes, and shed many tears, as she wiped the dust from
their covers, she seated herself in his chair before the reading desk,
and sat lost in melancholy reflection, till Theresa opened the door to
examine, as was her custom before she went to bed, if was all safe. She
started, on observing her young lady, who bade her come in, and then
gave her some directions for keeping the chateau in readiness for her
reception at all times.