them, was a wide view over Languedoc. On the distant horizon

to the south, she discovered the wild summits of the Pyrenées,

and her fancy immediately painted the green pastures of Gascony

at their feet. Her heart pointed to her peaceful home—to the neigh-

bourhood where Valancourt was—where St. Aubert had been; and

her imagination, piercing the veil of distance, brought that home

to her eyes in all its interesting and romantic beauty. She experi-

enced an inexpressible pleasure in believing, that she beheld the

country around it, though no feature could be distinguished,

except the retiring chain of the Pyrenées; and, inattentive to the

scene immediately before her, and to the flight of time, she con-

tinued to lean on the window of a pavilion, that terminated the

terrace, with her eyes fixed on Gascony, and her mind occupied

with the interesting ideas which the view of it awakened, till a

servant came to tell her breakfast was ready. Her thoughts thus

recalled to the surrounding objects, the straight walks, square

parterres, and artificial fountains of the garden, could not fail,

as she passed through it, to appear the worse, opposed to the negligent

graces, and natural beauties of the grounds of La Vallée,

upon which her recollection had been so intensely employed.¶

Cheron, as her niece entered the breakfast-room. ‘I don’t approve

of these solitary walks;’ and Emily was surprised, when, having

informed her aunt, that she had been no further than the gardens,

she understood these to be included in the reproof. ‘I desire you

will not walk there again at so early an hour unattended,’ said

Madame Cheron; ‘my gardens are very extensive; and a young

woman, who can make assignations by moon-light, at La Vallée,

is not to be trusted to her own inclinations elsewhere.’¶

beg an explanation of these words, and, when she did, her aunt

absolutely refused to give it, though, by her severe looks, and half

sentences, she appeared anxious to impress Emily with a belief,

that she was well informed of some degrading circumstances of her

conduct. Conscious innocence could not prevent a blush from

stealing over Emily’s cheek; she trembled, and looked confusedly

under the bold eye of Madame Cheron, who blushed also; but hers

was the blush of triumph, such as sometimes stains the countenance

of a person, congratulating himself on the penetration which had

taught him to suspect another, and who loses both pity for the sup-

posed criminal, and indignation of his guilt, in the gratification

of his own vanity.¶