'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.