Before they separated for the night, M. Quesnel desired to speak with
St. Aubert alone, and they retired to another room, where they remained
a considerable time. The subject of this conversation was not known;
but, whatever it might be, St. Aubert, when he returned to the
supper-room, seemed much disturbed, and a shade of sorrow sometimes fell
upon his features that alarmed Madame St. Aubert. When they were alone
she was tempted to enquire the occasion of it, but the delicacy of mind,
which had ever appeared in his conduct, restrained her: she considered
that, if St. Aubert wished her to be acquainted with the subject of his
concern, he would not wait on her enquiries.
On the following day, before M. Quesnel departed, he had a second
conference with St. Aubert. The guests, after dining at the chateau, set out in the cool of the day
for Epourville, whither they gave him and Madame St. Aubert a pressing
invitation, prompted rather by the vanity of displaying their splendour,
than by a wish to make their friends happy.
Emily returned, with delight, to the liberty which their presence had
restrained, to her books, her walks, and the rational conversation of
M. and Madame St. Aubert, who seemed to rejoice, no less, that they were
delivered from the shackles, which arrogance and frivolity had imposed. Madame St. Aubert excused herself from sharing their usual evening walk,
complaining that she was not quite well, and St. Aubert and Emily went
out together. They chose a walk towards the mountains, intending to visit some old
pensioners of St. Aubert, which, from his very moderate income, he
contrived to support, though it is probable M. Quesnel, with his very
large one, could not have afforded this.
After distributing to his pensioners their weekly stipends, listening
patiently to the complaints of some, redressing the grievances of
others, and softening the discontents of all, by the look of sympathy,
and the smile of benevolence, St. Aubert returned home through the
woods, where
At fall of eve the fairy-people throng,
In various games and revelry to pass
The summer night, as village stories tell.*
*Thomson
'The evening gloom of woods was always delightful to me,' said St.
Aubert, whose mind now experienced the sweet calm, which results from
the consciousness of having done a beneficent action, and which disposes
it to receive pleasure from every surrounding object. 'I remember that
in my youth this gloom used to call forth to my fancy a thousand fairy
visions, and romantic images; and, I own, I am not yet wholly insensible
of that high enthusiasm, which wakes the poet's dream: I can linger,
with solemn steps, under the deep shades, send forward a transforming
eye into the distant obscurity, and listen with thrilling delight to the
mystic murmuring of the woods.'