He felt the tender enthusiasm
stealing upon himself in a degree that became almost painful; his
features assumed a serious air, and he could not forbear secretly
sighing—“Perhaps I shall some time look back to these moments, as to
the summit of my happiness, with hopeless regret. But let me not misuse
them by useless anticipation; let me hope I shall not live to mourn the
loss of those who are dearer to me than life.”

To relieve, or perhaps to indulge, the pensive temper of his mind, he
bade Emily fetch the lute she knew how to touch with such sweet pathos. As she drew near the fishing-house, she was surprised to hear the tones
of the instrument, which were awakened by the hand of taste, and
uttered a plaintive air, whose exquisite melody engaged all her
attention. She listened in profound silence, afraid to move from the
spot, lest the sound of her steps should occasion her to lose a note of
the music, or should disturb the musician. Everything without the
building was still, and no person appeared. She continued to listen,
till timidity succeeded to surprise and delight; a timidity, increased
by a remembrance of the pencilled lines she had formerly seen, and she
hesitated whether to proceed, or to return. While she paused, the music ceased; and, after a momentary hesitation,
she recollected courage to advance to the fishing-house, which she
entered with faltering steps, and found unoccupied! Her lute lay on the
table; everything seemed undisturbed, and she began to believe it was
another instrument she had heard, till she remembered, that, when she
followed M. and Madame St. Aubert from this spot, her lute was left on
a window seat. She felt alarmed, yet knew not wherefore; the melancholy
gloom of evening, and the profound stillness of the place, interrupted
only by the light trembling of leaves, heightened her fanciful
apprehensions, and she was desirous of quitting the building, but
perceived herself grow faint, and sat down. As she tried to recover
herself, the pencilled lines on the wainscot met her eye; she started,
as if she had seen a stranger; but, endeavouring to conquer the tremor
of her spirits, rose, and went to the window. To the lines before
noticed she now perceived that others were added, in which her name
appeared. Though no longer suffered to doubt that they were addressed to herself,
she was as ignorant, as before, by whom they could be written. While
she mused, she thought she heard the sound of a step without the
building, and again alarmed, she caught up her lute, and hurried away. Monsieur and Madame St. Aubert she found in a little path that wound
along the sides of the glen. Having reached a green summit, shadowed by palm-trees, and overlooking
the valleys and plains of Gascony, they seated themselves on the turf;
and while their eyes wandered over the glorious scene, and they inhaled
the sweet breath of flowers and herbs that enriched the grass, Emily
played and sung several of their favourite airs, with the delicacy of
expression in which she so much excelled. Music and conversation detained them in this enchanting spot, till the
sun’s last light slept upon the plains; till the white sails that
glided beneath the mountains, where the Garonne wandered, became dim,
and the gloom of evening stole over the landscape. It was a melancholy
but not unpleasing gloom. St. Aubert and his family rose, and left the
place with regret; alas! Madame St. Aubert knew not that she left it
for ever. When they reached the fishing-house she missed her bracelet, and
recollected that she had taken it from her arm after dinner, and had
left it on the table when she went to walk. After a long search, in
which Emily was very active, she was compelled to resign herself to the
loss of it. What made this bracelet valuable to her was a miniature of
her daughter to which it was attached, esteemed a striking resemblance,
and which had been painted only a few months before. When Emily was
convinced that the bracelet was really gone, she blushed, and became
thoughtful. That some stranger had been in the fishing-house, during
her absence, her lute, and the additional lines of a pencil, had
already informed her: from the purport of these lines it was not
unreasonable to believe, that the poet, the musician, and the thief
were the same person. But though the music she had heard, the written
lines she had seen, and the disappearance of the picture, formed a
combination of circumstances very remarkable, she was irresistibly
restrained from mentioning them; secretly determining, however, never
again to visit the fishing-house without Monsieur or Madame St. Aubert. They returned pensively to the château, Emily musing on the incident
which had just occurred; St. Aubert reflecting, with placid gratitude,
on the blessings he possessed; and Madame St. Aubert somewhat
disturbed, and perplexed, by the loss of her daughter’s picture. As
they drew near the house, they observed an unusual bustle about it; the
sound of voices was distinctly heard, servants and horses were seen
passing between the trees, and, at length, the wheels of a carriage
rolled along. Having come within view of the front of the château, a
landau, with smoking horses, appeared on the little lawn before it. St.
Aubert perceived the liveries of his brother-in-law, and in the parlour
he found Monsieur and Madame Quesnel already entered. They had left
Paris some days before, and were on the way to their estate, only ten
leagues distant from La Vallée, and which Monsieur Quesnel had
purchased several years before of St. Aubert. This gentleman was the
only brother of Madame St. Aubert; but the ties of relationship having
never been strengthened by congeniality of character, the intercourse
between them had not been frequent. M. Quesnel had lived altogether in
the world; his aim had been consequence; splendour was the object of
his taste; and his address and knowledge of character had carried him
forward to the attainment of almost all that he had courted. By a man
of such a disposition, it is not surprising that the virtues of St.
Aubert should be overlooked; or that his pure taste, simplicity, and
moderated wishes, were considered as marks of a weak intellect, and of
confined views. The marriage of his sister with St. Aubert had been
mortifying to his ambition, for he had designed that the matrimonial
connection she formed should assist him to attain the consequence which
he so much desired; and some offers were made her by persons whose rank
and fortune flattered his warmest hope. But his sister, who was then
addressed also by St. Aubert, perceived, or thought she perceived, that
happiness and splendour were not the same, and she did not hesitate to
forego the last for the attainment of the former.