“No,” replied Ludovico, “Monsieur Valancourt never was below, if
this gentleman is not he.” “If you, sir,” said Ludovico, addressing the
stranger, “would but have had the goodness to trust me with your name,
this mistake had been avoided.” “Most true,” replied the stranger,
speaking in broken Italian, “but it was of the utmost consequence to
me, that my name should be concealed from Montoni. Madam,” added he
then, addressing Emily in French, “will you permit me to apologise for
the pain I have occasioned you, and to explain to you alone my name,
and the circumstance, which has led me into this error? I am of
France;—I am your countryman;—we are met in a foreign land.” Emily
tried to compose her spirits; yet she hesitated to grant his request. At length, desiring, that Ludovico would wait on the staircase, and
detaining Annette, she told the stranger, that her woman understood
very little Italian, and begged he would communicate what he wished to
say, in that language.—Having withdrawn to a distant part of the
corridor, he said, with a long-drawn sigh, “You, madam, are no stranger
to me, though I am so unhappy as to be unknown to you.—My name is Du
Pont; I am of France, of Gascony, your native province, and have long
admired,—and, why should I affect to disguise it?—have long loved you.”
He paused, but, in the next moment, proceeded. “My family, madam, is
probably not unknown to you, for we lived within a few miles of La
Vallée, and I have, sometimes, had the happiness of meeting you, on
visits in the neighbourhood. I will not offend you by repeating how
much you interested me; how much I loved to wander in the scenes you
frequented; how often I visited your favourite fishing-house, and
lamented the circumstance, which, at that time, forbade me to reveal my
passion. I will not explain how I surrendered to temptation, and became
possessed of a treasure, which was to me inestimable; a treasure, which
I committed to your messenger, a few days ago, with expectations very
different from my present ones. I will say nothing of these
circumstances, for I know they will avail me little; let me only
supplicate from you forgiveness, and the picture, which I so unwarily
returned. Your generosity will pardon the theft, and restore the prize. My crime has been my punishment; for the portrait I stole has
contributed to nourish a passion, which must still be my torment.”

Emily now interrupted him. “I think, sir, I may leave it to your
integrity to determine, whether, after what has just appeared,
concerning Mons. Valancourt, I ought to return the picture. I think you
will acknowledge, that this would not be generosity; and you will allow
me to add, that it would be doing myself an injustice. I must consider
myself honoured by your good opinion, but”—and she hesitated,—“the
mistake of this evening makes it unnecessary for me to say more.”

“It does, madam,—alas! it does!” said the stranger, who, after a long
pause, proceeded.—“But you will allow me to show my disinterestedness,
though not my love, and will accept the services I offer. Yet, alas! what services can I offer? I am myself a prisoner, a sufferer, like
you. But, dear as liberty is to me, I would not seek it through half
the hazards I would encounter to deliver you from this recess of vice. Accept the offered services of a friend; do not refuse me the reward of
having, at least, attempted to deserve your thanks.”

“You deserve them already, sir,” said Emily; “the wish deserves my
warmest thanks. But you will excuse me for reminding you of the danger
you incur by prolonging this interview. It will be a great consolation
to me to remember, whether your friendly attempts to release me succeed
or not, that I have a countryman, who would so generously protect
me.”—Monsieur Du Pont took her hand, which she but feebly attempted to
withdraw, and pressed it respectfully to his lips. “Allow me to breathe
another fervent sigh for your happiness,” said he, “and to applaud
myself for an affection, which I cannot conquer.” As he said this,
Emily heard a noise from her apartment, and, turning round, saw the
door from the staircase open, and a man rush into her chamber. “I will
teach you to conquer it,” cried he, as he advanced into the corridor,
and drew a stiletto, which he aimed at Du Pont, who was unarmed, but
who, stepping back, avoided the blow, and then sprung upon Verezzi,
from whom he wrenched the stiletto. While they struggled in each
other’s grasp, Emily, followed by Annette, ran further into the
corridor, calling on Ludovico, who was, however, gone from the
staircase, and, as she advanced, terrified and uncertain what to do, a
distant noise, that seemed to arise from the hall, reminded her of the
danger she was incurring; and, sending Annette forward in search of
Ludovico, she returned to the spot where Du Pont and Verezzi were still
struggling for victory. It was her own cause which was to be decided
with that of the former, whose conduct, independently of this
circumstance, would, however, have interested her in his success, even
had she not disliked and dreaded Verezzi. She threw herself in a chair,
and supplicated them to desist from further violence, till, at length,
Du Pont forced Verezzi to the floor, where he lay stunned by the
violence of his fall; and she then entreated Du Pont to escape from the
room, before Montoni, or his party, should appear; but he still refused
to leave her unprotected; and, while Emily, now more terrified for him,
than for herself, enforced the entreaty, they heard steps ascending the
private staircase. “O you are lost!” cried she, “these are Montoni’s people.” Du Pont made
no reply, but supported Emily, while, with a steady, though eager,
countenance, he awaited their appearance, and, in the next moment,
Ludovico, alone, mounted the landing-place. Throwing a hasty glance
round the chamber, “Follow me,” said he, “as you value your lives; we
have not an instant to lose!”

Emily enquired what had occurred, and whither they were to go? “I cannot stay to tell you now, Signora,” replied Ludovico: “fly! fly!”

She immediately followed him, accompanied by Mons. Du Pont, down the
staircase, and along a vaulted passage, when suddenly she recollected
Annette, and enquired for her. “She awaits us further on, Signora,”
said Ludovico, almost breathless with haste; “the gates were open, a
moment since, to a party just come in from the mountains: they will be
shut, I fear, before we can reach them! Through this door, Signora,”
added Ludovico, holding down the lamp, “take care, here are two steps.”

Emily followed, trembling still more, than before she had understood,
that her escape from the castle, depended upon the present moment;
while Du Pont supported her, and endeavoured, as they passed along, to
cheer her spirits.