There
was somewhat of privacy, too, in the manner of Orsino’s visits, which
had never before occurred, and which excited not only surprise, but
some degree of alarm in Emily’s mind, who had unwillingly discovered
much of his character when he had most endeavoured to disguise it. After these visits, Montoni was often more thoughtful than usual;
sometimes the deep workings of his mind entirely abstracted him from
surrounding objects, and threw a gloom over his visage that rendered it
terrible; at others, his eyes seemed almost to flash fire, and all the
energies of his soul appeared to be roused for some great enterprise. Emily observed these written characters of his thoughts with deep
interest, and not without some degree of awe, when she considered that
she was entirely in his power; but forbore even to hint her fears, or
her observations, to Madame Montoni, who discerned nothing in her
husband, at these times, but his usual sternness. A second letter from M. Quesnel announced the arrival of himself and
his lady at the Villa Miarenti; stated several circumstances of his
good fortune, respecting the affair that had brought him into Italy;
and concluded with an earnest request to see Montoni, his wife and
niece, at his new estate. Emily received, about the same period, a much more interesting letter,
and which soothed for a while every anxiety of her heart. Valancourt,
hoping she might be still at Venice, had trusted a letter to the
ordinary post, that told her of his health, and of his unceasing and
anxious affection. He had lingered at Thoulouse for some time after her
departure, that he might indulge the melancholy pleasure of wandering
through the scenes where he had been accustomed to behold her, and had
thence gone to his brother’s château, which was in the neighbourhood of
La Vallée. Having mentioned this, he added, “If the duty of attending
my regiment did not require my departure, I know not when I should have
resolution enough to quit the neighbourhood of a place which is
endeared by the remembrance of you. The vicinity to La Vallée has alone
detained me thus long at Estuvière: I frequently ride thither early in
the morning, that I may wander, at leisure, through the day, among
scenes, which were once your home, where I have been accustomed to see
you, and to hear you converse. I have renewed my acquaintance with the
good old Theresa, who rejoiced to see me, that she might talk of you: I
need not say how much this circumstance attached me to her, or how
eagerly I listened to her upon her favourite subject. You will guess
the motive that first induced me to make myself known to Theresa: it
was, indeed, no other than that of gaining admittance into the château
and gardens, which my Emily had so lately inhabited: here, then, I
wander, and meet your image under every shade: but chiefly I love to
sit beneath the spreading branches of your favourite plane, where once,
Emily, we sat together; where I first ventured to tell you, that I
loved. O Emily! the remembrance of those moments overcomes me—I sit
lost in reverie—I endeavour to see you dimly through my tears, in all
the heaven of peace and innocence, such as you then appeared to me; to
hear again the accents of that voice, which then thrilled my heart with
tenderness and hope. I lean on the wall of the terrace, where we
together watched the rapid current of the Garonne below, while I
described the wild scenery about its source, but thought only of you. O
Emily! are these moments passed for ever—will they never more return?”

In another part of his letter he wrote thus. “You see my letter is
dated on many different days, and, if you look back to the first, you
will perceive, that I began to write soon after your departure from
France. To write was, indeed, the only employment that withdrew me from
my own melancholy, and rendered your absence supportable, or rather, it
seemed to destroy absence; for, when I was conversing with you on
paper, and telling you every sentiment and affection of my heart, you
almost appeared to be present. This employment has been from time to
time my chief consolation, and I have deferred sending off my packet,
merely for the comfort of prolonging it, though it was certain, that
what I had written, was written to no purpose till you received it. Whenever my mind has been more than usually depressed I have come to
pour forth its sorrows to you, and have always found consolation; and,
when any little occurrence has interested my heart, and given a gleam
of joy to my spirits, I have hastened to communicate it to you, and
have received reflected satisfaction. Thus, my letter is a kind of
picture of my life and of my thoughts for the last month, and thus,
though it has been deeply interesting to me, while I wrote it, and I
dare hope will, for the same reason, be not indifferent to you, yet to
other readers it would seem to abound only in frivolities. Thus it is
always, when we attempt to describe the finer movements of the heart,
for they are too fine to be discerned, they can only be experienced,
and are therefore passed over by the indifferent observer, while the
interested one feels, that all description is imperfect and
unnecessary, except as it may prove the sincerity of the writer, and
sooth his own sufferings. You will pardon all this egotism—for I am a
lover.”

“I have just heard of a circumstance, which entirely destroys all my
fairy paradise of ideal delight, and which will reconcile me to the
necessity of returning to my regiment, for I must no longer wander
beneath the beloved shades, where I have been accustomed to meet you in
thought.—La Vallée is let! I have reason to believe this is without
your knowledge, from what Theresa told me this morning, and, therefore,
I mention the circumstance. She shed tears, while she related, that she
was going to leave the service of her dear mistress, and the château
where she had lived so many happy years; and all this, added she,
without even a letter from Mademoiselle to soften the news; but it is
all Mons. Quesnel’s doings, and I dare say she does not even know what
is going forward.”

“Theresa added, That she had received a letter from him, informing her
the château was let, and that, as her services would no longer be
required, she must quit the place, on that day week, when the new
tenant would arrive.”

“Theresa had been surprised by a visit from M. Quesnel, some time
before the receipt of this letter, who was accompanied by a stranger
that viewed the premises with much curiosity.”

Towards the conclusion of his letter, which is dated a week after this
sentence, Valancourt adds, “I have received a summons from my regiment,
and I join it without regret, since I am shut out from the scenes that
are so interesting to my heart. I rode to La Vallée this morning, and
heard that the new tenant was arrived, and that Theresa was gone.