The silence of Emily confirmed this supposition; for the deep twilight
would not allow Valancourt to distinguish the astonishment and doubting
joy, that fixed her features. For a moment, she continued unable to
speak; then a profound sigh seemed to give some relief to her spirits,
and she said, 'Valancourt! I was, till this moment, ignorant of all the circumstances
you have mentioned; the emotion I now suffer may assure you of the truth
of this, and, that, though I had ceased to esteem, I had not taught
myself entirely to forget you.'
'This moment,' said Valancourt, in a low voice, and leaning for support
against the window--'this moment brings with it a conviction that
overpowers me!--I am dear to you then--still dear to you, my Emily!'
'Is it necessary that I should tell you so?' she replied, 'is it
necessary, that I should say--these are the first moments of joy I have
known, since your departure, and that they repay me for all those of
pain I have suffered in the interval?'
Valancourt sighed deeply, and was unable to reply; but, as he pressed
her hand to his lips, the tears, that fell over it, spoke a language,
which could not be mistaken, and to which words were inadequate.
Emily, somewhat tranquillized, proposed returning to the chateau,
and then, for the first time, recollected that the Count had invited
Valancourt thither to explain his conduct, and that no explanation had
yet been given. But, while she acknowledged this, her heart would
not allow her to dwell, for a moment, on the possibility of his
unworthiness; his look, his voice, his manner, all spoke the noble
sincerity, which had formerly distinguished him; and she again permitted
herself to indulge the emotions of a joy, more surprising and powerful,
than she had ever before experienced.
Neither Emily, or Valancourt, were conscious how they reached the
chateau, whither they might have been transferred by the spell of a
fairy, for any thing they could remember; and it was not, till they had
reached the great hall, that either of them recollected there were other
persons in the world besides themselves. The Count then came forth
with surprise, and with the joyfulness of pure benevolence, to welcome
Valancourt, and to entreat his forgiveness of the injustice he had done
him; soon after which, Mons. Bonnac joined this happy group, in which he
and Valancourt were mutually rejoiced to meet.
When the first congratulations were over, and the general joy became
somewhat more tranquil, the Count withdrew with Valancourt to the
library, where a long conversation passed between them, in which
the latter so clearly justified himself of the criminal parts of the
conduct, imputed to him, and so candidly confessed and so feelingly
lamented the follies, which he had committed, that the Count was
confirmed in his belief of all he had hoped; and, while he perceived so
many noble virtues in Valancourt, and that experience had taught him
to detest the follies, which before he had only not admired, he did not
scruple to believe, that he would pass through life with the dignity of
a wise and good man, or to entrust to his care the future happiness of
Emily St. Aubert, for whom he felt the solicitude of a parent.