'Alas! unhappy!' said the abbess, 'and ill-informed of our holy
religion!' Emily listened to Agnes, in silent awe, while she still
examined the miniature, and became confirmed in her opinion of its
strong resemblance to the portrait at Udolpho. 'This face is familiar to
me,' said she, wishing to lead the nun to an explanation, yet fearing to
discover too abruptly her knowledge of Udolpho.
'You are mistaken,' replied Agnes, 'you certainly never saw that picture
before.' 'No,' replied Emily, 'but I have seen one extremely like it.'
'Impossible,' said Agnes, who may now be called the Lady Laurentini.
'It was in the castle of Udolpho,' continued Emily, looking stedfastly
at her. 'Of Udolpho!' exclaimed Laurentini, 'of Udolpho in Italy!' 'The same,'
replied Emily. 'You know me then,' said Laurentini, 'and you are the daughter of the
Marchioness.' Emily was somewhat surprised at this abrupt assertion. 'I
am the daughter of the late Mons. St. Aubert,' said she; 'and the lady
you name is an utter stranger to me.' 'At least you believe so,' rejoined Laurentini.
Emily asked what reasons there could be to believe otherwise.
'The family likeness, that you bear her,' said the nun. 'The
Marchioness, it is known, was attached to a gentleman of Gascony, at the
time when she accepted the hand of the Marquis, by the command of her
father. Ill-fated, unhappy woman!'
Emily, remembering the extreme emotion which St. Aubert had betrayed on
the mention of the Marchioness, would now have suffered something more
than surprise, had her confidence in his integrity been less; as it
was, she could not, for a moment, believe what the words of Laurentini
insinuated; yet she still felt strongly interested, concerning them, and
begged, that she would explain them further.
'Do not urge me on that subject,' said the nun, 'it is to me a terrible
one! Would that I could blot it from my memory!' She sighed deeply,
and, after the pause of a moment, asked Emily, by what means she had
discovered her name? 'By your portrait in the castle of Udolpho, to which this miniature
bears a striking resemblance,' replied Emily. '
You have been at Udolpho then!' said the nun, with great emotion.
'Alas! what scenes does the mention of it revive in my fancy--scenes of
happiness--of suffering--and of horror!'
At this moment, the terrible spectacle, which Emily had witnessed in a
chamber of that castle, occurred to her, and she shuddered, while she
looked upon the nun--and recollected her late words--that 'years of
prayer and penitence could not wash out the foulness of murder.' She
was now compelled to attribute these to another cause, than that of
delirium. With a degree of horror, that almost deprived her of sense,
she now believed she looked upon a murderer; all the recollected
behaviour of Laurentini seemed to confirm the supposition, yet Emily was
still lost in a labyrinth of perplexities, and, not knowing how to ask
the questions, which might lead to truth, she could only hint them in
broken sentences.