But M. Du Pont, with truer sympathy, seemed to understand her manner,
and his countenance quickly lost its vivacity, and sunk into the languor
of despondency. On the following day, however, he sought an opportunity of declaring
the purport of his visit, and renewed his suit; a declaration, which was
received with real concern by Emily, who endeavoured to lessen the pain
she might inflict by a second rejection, with assurances of esteem
and friendship; yet she left him in a state of mind, that claimed and
excited her tenderest compassion; and, being more sensible than ever
of the impropriety of remaining longer at the chateau, she immediately
sought the Count, and communicated to him her intention of returning to
the convent. 'My dear Emily,' said he 'I observe, with extreme concern, the illusion
you are encouraging--an illusion common to young and sensible minds.
Your heart has received a severe shock; you believe you can never
entirely recover it, and you will encourage this belief, till the habit
of indulging sorrow will subdue the strength of your mind, and discolour
your future views with melancholy and regret. Let me dissipate this
illusion, and awaken you to a sense of your danger.'
Emily smiled mournfully, 'I know what you would say, my dear sir,' said
she, 'and am prepared to answer you. I feel, that my heart can never
know a second affection; and that I must never hope even to recover its
tranquillity--if I suffer myself to enter into a second engagement.'
'I know, that you feel all this,' replied the Count; 'and I know, also,
that time will overcome these feelings, unless you cherish them in
solitude, and, pardon me, with romantic tenderness. Then, indeed, time
will only confirm habit. I am particularly empowered to speak on this
subject, and to sympathize in your sufferings,' added the Count, with
an air of solemnity, 'for I have known what it is to love, and to lament
the object of my love. Yes,' continued he, while his eyes filled with
tears, 'I have suffered!--but those times have passed away--long passed!
and I can now look back upon them without emotion.'
'My dear sir,' said Emily, timidly, 'what mean those tears?--they speak,
I fear, another language--they plead for me.'
'They are weak tears, for they are useless ones,' replied the Count,
drying them, 'I would have you superior to such weakness. These,
however, are only faint traces of a grief, which, if it had not been
opposed by long continued effort, might have led me to the verge
of madness! Judge, then, whether I have not cause to warn you of an
indulgence, which may produce so terrible an effect, and which must
certainly, if not opposed, overcloud the years, that otherwise might
be happy. M. Du Pont is a sensible and amiable man, who has long
been tenderly attached to you; his family and fortune are
unexceptionable;--after what I have said, it is unnecessary to add, that
I should rejoice in your felicity, and that I think M. Du Pont would
promote it. Do not weep, Emily,' continued the Count, taking her hand,
'there IS happiness reserved for you.'