Madame St. Aubert was buried in the small village church near their home.
Her husband and daughter followed her coffin to the grave, accompanied by a long procession of villagers. The peasants had truly loved her, and their sorrow was sincere. She had always been kind and generous to them, and they mourned the loss of a woman who had brought goodness into their lives.
After returning from the funeral, St. Aubert went directly to his room and shut himself away.
When he finally came out, his face was pale with grief, but there was a calmness in his expression that showed he had struggled to master his emotions.
He sent word that everyone in the household should gather.
Only Emily was missing.
Unable to bear the scene she had just witnessed, she had gone alone to her room, where she could weep without being seen.
St. Aubert went after her.
He found her overcome with sorrow. Without speaking, he gently took her hand while she continued to cry. For several moments he could not find the strength to speak.
At last, he said in a trembling voice:
“My dear Emily, I am going to pray with the family. You must come with us. We need to ask for strength from above. Where else can we turn? Where else can we find comfort?”
Emily tried to control her tears and followed her father into the sitting room.
The servants were already gathered there.
St. Aubert opened the evening prayer book and began to read in a low, solemn voice. He added a special prayer for the soul of his beloved wife.
As he read, his voice often broke.
Tears fell onto the pages.
Several times he had to stop because his grief overcame him.
But gradually, the deep peace of sincere devotion lifted his thoughts beyond the pain of this world. His heart, though still wounded, began to find comfort.
When the service ended and the servants had left, St. Aubert gently kissed Emily.
“My dear child,” he said, “from your earliest years I have tried to teach you the importance of controlling your emotions. I have shown you that self-command is one of the greatest strengths a person can possess.”
“It protects us from the many temptations that try to lead us away from honesty and virtue. It also teaches us to control even those pleasures that seem harmless, because anything carried too far can become harmful.”
“Too much of anything becomes a weakness. Even sorrow, though it may come from love and kindness, can become selfish and unjust when it prevents us from fulfilling our duties.”
“By duties, I mean not only what we owe to others, but also what we owe to ourselves.”
“Excessive grief weakens the mind. It can make us unable to enjoy the innocent happiness that a generous God intended to brighten our lives.”
“My dear Emily, remember the lessons I have given you so many times. Your own experience has already shown you that they are wise.”
“Your sorrow cannot bring your mother back.”
“Do not think I say this as a simple phrase people repeat after a loss. Let reason help guide your feelings.”
“I do not want to destroy your emotions, my child. I only want you to learn how to control them.”
“A sensitive heart may bring suffering, but it is still better than a heart that feels nothing. A person without feeling has no virtue at all. Such emptiness cannot be softened by any appearance of goodness.”
“You know my own suffering. You know that I do not speak these words lightly, as some people do when they try to silence honest grief with cold philosophy.”
“I will show you, Emily, that I can follow the advice I give.”
“I have spoken now because I cannot bear to see you consumed by sorrow when your mind has the power to resist it.”
“I did not speak earlier because there is a time when reason must surrender to nature. That time has passed.”
“But there is another danger ahead—the moment when sorrow becomes a habit, when it weakens the spirit so much that overcoming it becomes almost impossible.”
“I do not want that for you.”
“My Emily, show me that you are willing to avoid such a fate.”
Emily looked at her father through her tears.
A faint smile appeared on her face.
“Dear father,” she whispered.
Her voice trembled.
She wanted to say:
“I will prove myself worthy of being your daughter.”
But gratitude, love, and sorrow were all mixed together in her heart, and she could not continue.
St. Aubert allowed her to cry without interruption.
After some time, he gently changed the subject and began speaking of ordinary matters, hoping to slowly bring her thoughts away from despair.
The first person who came to offer sympathy to St. Aubert was Monsieur Barreaux.
He was a serious man, with a strict character and a manner that often seemed cold and emotionless.
A shared interest in botany had brought the two men together. They had often met while exploring the mountains and studying plants.
Monsieur Barreaux had withdrawn from the world and almost completely separated himself from society. He lived quietly in a beautiful château on the edge of the forests near La Vallée.
Like St. Aubert, he had become disappointed in humanity.
But their disappointments had affected them differently.
St. Aubert felt sadness and compassion for human weakness.
Monsieur Barreaux felt anger toward human corruption and disliked the faults of mankind more than he pitied them.
St. Aubert was surprised when he arrived.
Although he had often invited Monsieur Barreaux to visit the château, he had never accepted before.
Now he entered without hesitation, as if he were an old and trusted friend.
The suffering of others seemed to have softened the harshness of his heart.
The only thought that appeared to occupy him was that St. Aubert was unhappy.
He did not speak much about their loss.
Instead, his sympathy appeared through his actions.
The careful attention he gave them, the gentleness of his voice, and the sadness in his expression showed feelings deeper than words could express.
Soon after, St. Aubert was also visited by Madame Cheron, his only surviving sister.
She had been a widow for several years and lived on her own estate near Toulouse.
Their relationship had never been especially close, and they had not often visited each other.
Madame Cheron offered many words of sympathy.
However, she did not understand the silent language of true compassion—the look that speaks directly to the heart, or the gentle voice that brings comfort like medicine to a wounded soul.
She assured St. Aubert that she sincerely shared his sorrow.
She praised the virtues of his late wife.
Then she offered what she believed to be comforting advice.
Emily cried constantly while her aunt spoke.
St. Aubert remained calm.
He listened quietly, then carefully turned the conversation to another topic.
When Madame Cheron prepared to leave, she urged him and Emily to visit her soon.
“A change of place will help you,” she said.
“It is not good to surrender yourself completely to grief.”
St. Aubert admitted that her words were reasonable.
Yet at the same time, he felt even more unwilling to leave the place where so many memories of happiness remained.
His wife’s presence had given meaning to every corner of their home.
And every day, as his pain slowly became less sharp, it also strengthened the tender attachment that kept him connected to the place where they had shared their happiest moments.
However, there were certain obligations that could not be avoided.
One of them was the visit St. Aubert owed to his brother-in-law, Monsieur Quesnel.
An important matter required him to delay the visit no longer.
And because he wished to help Emily escape, even for a short time, from the sadness that surrounded her, he decided to take her with him to Epourville.
As their carriage entered the forest near his family’s old estate, St. Aubert once again saw, through the rows of chestnut trees, the towers of the château where he had spent his childhood.
A deep sigh escaped him.
He remembered everything that had happened since he had last stood there.
The place that had once belonged to his family now belonged to a man who neither respected nor appreciated its history.
At last, the carriage entered the long avenue.
The tall trees that had once delighted him as a boy now cast a dark and sorrowful shadow that perfectly matched his mood.
Through the branches, different parts of the old building appeared one after another.
The heavy tower.
The arched entrance leading into the courtyard.
The drawbridge.
The dry moat surrounding the entire château.
Everything seemed unchanged, yet everything felt different.
The sound of the carriage wheels brought servants rushing to the great gate.
St. Aubert stepped down and led Emily inside.
Together they entered the ancient Gothic hall.
But the hall was no longer the place he remembered.
The family’s old weapons and banners, which had once decorated the walls, were gone.
The oak panels and massive wooden beams across the ceiling had been painted white.
The great table that once stood at the end of the hall was missing.
That table had been where the former master of the house proudly welcomed his guests, where laughter had filled the room and songs had echoed during times of celebration.
Even the long benches that once surrounded the hall had disappeared.
The thick stone walls were now covered with fashionable but meaningless decorations.
Everything showed the poor taste and shallow values of the current owner.
A cheerful Parisian servant led them into the drawing room.
Monsieur and Madame Quesnel were waiting there.
They greeted St. Aubert with formal politeness.
After offering a few expected words of sympathy, they soon behaved as though they had almost forgotten that they had ever shared a family connection with his late wife.
Emily felt tears rising in her eyes.
But this time, grief was replaced by anger, and she forced them back.
Her father, however, remained calm.
With quiet dignity, he neither complained nor showed resentment.
Yet Monsieur Quesnel felt strangely uncomfortable in his presence.
He could not explain why, but St. Aubert’s quiet strength seemed to make him feel smaller.
After some general conversation, St. Aubert requested to speak with Monsieur Quesnel privately.
Emily remained with Madame Quesnel.
There she soon discovered that a large dinner party had been planned for that evening.
She was forced to listen as her aunt explained that nothing from the past, no matter how painful or impossible to change, should prevent people from enjoying the present moment.
St. Aubert was deeply disturbed when he learned that guests were expected.
A feeling of disgust and disappointment rose within him.
He wished to leave immediately.
How could people celebrate so easily while his heart was still mourning?
But then he was told that Madame Cheron had also been invited.
When St. Aubert looked at Emily, he remembered that one day she might need her uncle’s goodwill.
If he left now because of his anger, his actions might be considered rude by those who already lacked sensitivity.
For Emily’s sake, he decided to remain.
Among the guests arriving for dinner were two Italian gentlemen.
One of them was named Montoni.
He was a distant relative of Madame Quesnel.
He was around forty years old and possessed an unusually striking appearance.
His features were strong, masculine, and expressive.
Yet there was something in his face that suggested more than simple attractiveness.
It revealed pride, authority, and a sharp intelligence that seemed always to be observing others.
His companion, Signor Cavigni, appeared to be about thirty.
He lacked Montoni’s commanding presence, but his eyes showed equal intelligence.
His manners, however, were smoother and more charming.
During dinner, Emily noticed many new personalities and listened to conversations very different from those she was accustomed to.
The meal itself was served with a level of luxury she had rarely experienced.
Had her heart been less burdened with sorrow, she might have found the scene entertaining.
Montoni had recently arrived from Italy.
He spoke passionately about the conflicts and disturbances that were troubling his country.
He discussed political disagreements with great energy and then expressed concern about the consequences these struggles might bring.
His friend, Signor Cavigni, spoke with equal enthusiasm about Italian politics.
He praised the government and prosperity of Venice, declaring its advantages over all other Italian states.
Then he turned his attention to the ladies.
With the same confidence and eloquence, he spoke about Parisian fashions, the French opera, and French society.
When discussing French manners, he carefully added compliments that were especially pleasing to French ears.
The women listening to him did not notice the skill behind his words.
They accepted his praise gladly.
But Cavigni noticed the effect his flattery produced.
He saw how easily admiration could gain him attention and approval.
Whenever he could escape the attention of the other ladies, he occasionally spoke with Emily.
But Emily knew nothing about fashionable Parisian life or popular operas.
Her simple manners, modest character, and natural dignity made her completely different from the other women around her.
She had no desire to impress anyone.
And because of that, she attracted attention in a way she did not intend.
After dinner, St. Aubert quietly left the room.
He wanted to see once more the old chestnut tree that Monsieur Quesnel had mentioned cutting down.
Standing beneath its branches, he looked upward.
The tree was still strong and full of life.
Between the leaves, patches of blue sky trembled softly in the distance.
At that moment, memories of his childhood rushed back upon him.
He remembered the hopes and experiences of his early years.
He saw again the faces of friends who had long since disappeared from the world.
He suddenly felt almost completely alone.
Except for Emily, there was no one left to whom his heart could truly turn.
He remained beneath the tree, lost among the memories of the past.
His imagination carried him through years of happiness and loss.
But finally, all those memories ended with the image of his dying wife.
The painful vision became too much to bear.
He quickly turned away and returned to the dinner table, hoping that the presence of others might help him forget.
St. Aubert ordered the carriage early.
During the journey home, Emily noticed that her father was quieter and more depressed than usual.
She believed his sadness was simply caused by returning to a place filled with memories of earlier days.
She did not realize that he carried another sorrow hidden deep within his heart.
When they arrived back at the château, Emily felt more lonely than ever.
Being away from home had made her realize even more painfully how much she missed her mother.
In the past, whenever she returned from a journey, her mother had always welcomed her with warmth and affection.
Now there was only silence.
The house seemed empty and abandoned.
Yet what reason and determination could not accomplish, time slowly achieved.
Week after week passed.
With each passing day, some of the sharpness of Emily’s grief faded.
Her sorrow became gentler, becoming the kind of tender memory that a loving heart keeps forever.
St. Aubert, however, grew weaker.
His health visibly declined.
Because Emily was constantly beside him, she was almost the last person to notice how serious his condition had become.
His body had never fully recovered from the fever he had suffered earlier.
The shock of losing his wife had weakened him even further.
His doctor now advised him to travel.
It was clear that grief had affected his nerves, already weakened by illness.
A change of surroundings, the doctor believed, might restore his strength by occupying his mind.
For several days Emily was busy preparing for their journey.
At the same time, St. Aubert tried to reduce the household expenses during their absence.
This decision eventually led him to dismiss most of their servants.
Emily rarely questioned her father’s choices.
Otherwise, she would have asked why he did not take a servant with them.
Considering his poor health, such assistance seemed almost necessary.
But when she discovered, on the evening before their departure, that Jacques, Francis, and Mary had all been dismissed, while only Theresa, the old housekeeper, remained, she was greatly surprised.
Finally, she asked:
“Father, why have you sent them all away?”
“To save money, my dear,” he replied.
“We are about to begin an expensive journey.”
The doctor had recommended the climate of Languedoc and Provence.
Therefore, St. Aubert decided that they would travel slowly along the Mediterranean coast toward Provence.
On the night before their departure, St. Aubert and Emily went to their rooms early.
However, Emily still had several books and personal belongings to collect.
By the time she finished preparing everything, the clock had already struck midnight.
Suddenly, she remembered that some of her drawing instruments, which she intended to take on the journey, had been left in the downstairs sitting room.
She went to retrieve them.
As she passed her father’s room, she noticed that the door was partly open.
She assumed he was in his study.
Since the death of Madame St. Aubert, it had become his habit to leave his bed during sleepless nights and go there, hoping to calm his troubled thoughts.
When Emily reached the lower floor, she looked into the study.
But her father was not there.
As she returned upstairs, she stopped outside his room and gently knocked.
No answer came.
She hesitated for a moment.
Then, wanting only to make sure that he was safe, she quietly pushed the door open and entered.
The room was dark.
But a faint light came through several small glass panes set into the upper part of a closet door.
Emily believed her father must be inside the closet.
She was surprised that he was awake so late and wondered whether he might be feeling ill.
She was about to speak to him.
Then she thought that her sudden appearance at such a late hour might alarm him.
So she placed her candle on the staircase and moved silently toward the closet.
Looking through the glass panes, she saw her father sitting at a small table.
Several papers lay before him.
He was reading them with intense attention.
His expression showed deep emotion.
As he continued, tears fell from his eyes.
Several times, he sobbed aloud.
Emily had entered the room only because she feared her father might be unwell.
But now she remained there, held in place by curiosity and affection.
She could not see him suffering so deeply without wanting to understand the reason.
She assumed that the papers must be letters from her mother.
She continued watching silently.
After a while, St. Aubert suddenly rose.
He knelt down.
His face took on an expression of solemn devotion unlike anything Emily had seen before.
Yet mixed with his reverence was another emotion.
Something close to fear.
Something that seemed almost like horror.
He remained there for a long time, silently praying.
When he finally stood again, his face was extremely pale.
Emily immediately began to withdraw.
She felt that she was intruding upon a private sorrow that did not belong to her.
But before leaving, she saw him turn once more toward the papers.
She stopped.
St. Aubert reached among them and took out a small case.
From the case, he removed a miniature portrait.
The light from the candle fell directly upon it.
Emily could clearly see the image of a woman.
But it was not her mother.
St. Aubert looked at the portrait with deep tenderness.
His expression was filled with affection and sorrow.
He pressed the picture to his lips.
Then he held it against his heart.
A powerful sigh escaped him, almost like a cry of pain.
Emily could hardly believe what she was seeing.
Until this moment, she had never known that her father possessed a portrait of any woman except Madame St. Aubert.
She had certainly never imagined that he treasured another woman’s image with such emotion.
She looked carefully again.
She wanted to be certain.
It was not her mother’s likeness.
There was no mistake.
The portrait belonged to someone else.
Emily remained frozen for several moments.
A thousand questions rose in her mind.
Who was this woman?
Why had her father kept the portrait hidden?
Why did it bring him such overwhelming sorrow?
But she knew that she had no right to discover what he wished to conceal.
At last, St. Aubert carefully returned the miniature to its case.
Emily quietly stepped away.
She left the room without making a sound.
As she returned to her own chamber, her heart was filled with confusion.
She had entered her father’s room because she feared for his health.
But she left carrying the knowledge that he possessed a secret sorrow far deeper than she had ever imagined.